


Frosted Locker

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ADKOC, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Requests, Romantic Fluff, Scraps, hanahaki, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:16:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9345557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: A place for scraps, micro fics, prompts, requests, unfinished drabbles, and other Yuri On Ice miscellany. TAGS LISTED BY CHAPTER.NEW (May 7)"Hey Hero" - Otayuri AU Zine Piece





	1. Requests

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

  * **Chapter 1: Requests & Contents** \-- Have a request? Drop it here.
  * **Chapter 2: Inherited Scars - Nixed Epilogue** \-- (Referenced Non-Con) An Epilogue from [Inherited Scars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9071101) that contains multiple alternate endings
  * **Chapter 3: Inherited Scars - Deleted Scene ("Aid")** \-- (Referenced Non-Con; Yuri/Victor) Deleted Scene where Victor helps Yuri with his latest injury
  * **Chapter 4: Inherited Scars - Deleted Scene ("Boundaries")** \-- (Referenced Non-Con; Yuri/Victor) Deleted Scene where Victor and Yuri discuss Victor's sexuality
  * **Chapter 5: Request: Moscow & Maccachin** \-- Victor's melancholic at the vet, unable to get a good enough cell connection to watch Yuuri's Rostelecom performance
  * **Chapter 6: Little Ice Pets** \-- (Light BDSM; Otabek/Yuri, Victor/Yuuri, INCOMPLETE) Victor and Otabek have their pets compete
  * **Chapter 7: Breath of Blossoms - Interlude ("Intimacy")** \-- (Explicit; Victor/Yuuri) A scene from an alternate ending to [Breath of Blossoms](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9406640) where Yuuri and Victor are intimate for the first time 
  * **Chapter 8: ADKOC - Interlude ("Aftermath")** \-- (Mature; Victor/Yuuri/Otabek) An aftercare scene from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666). 
  * **Chapter 9: ADKOC - Interlude ("Sickness & Health")** \-- (Teen; Victor/Yuuri/Yuri/Otabek) A bonus chapter from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) where Yuri gets sick and the other three take care of him. 
  * **Chapter 10: ADKOC - Interlude ("Or Don't Communicate")** \-- (Mature; Victor/Otabek, Yui/Yuuri) A chapter from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) where Yuuri and Victor try to convince their friends to communicate with each other after a particularly intense scene. 
  * **Chapter 11: ADKOC - Deleted Scene ("Communication")** \-- (Explicit; Victor/Otabek, Yuri/Yuuri) A deleted scene from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) that explored the dynamics of Otabek topping Victor. 
  * **Chapter 12: ADKOC - Interlude ("Not Quite a Key")** \-- (Explicit; Victor/Yuuri/Otabek/Yuri) A non-canon fluff piece for [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) that explores one way Yuri might've been asked to live with the trio. 
  * **Chapter 13: ADKOC - Interlude ("Russian Princes")** \-- (Explicit; Victor/Yuri) A bonus scene from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) where Yuri and Victor realize just how much they mean to each other. 
  * **Chapter 14: ADKOC - Interlude ("Russian Honeymoon")** \-- (Explicit; Victor/Yuri) A bonus scene from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) where Yuri and Victor consummate their newfound relationship. 
  * **Chapter 15: ADKOC - Interlude ("Leo's Bae")** \-- (Explicit; Leo/Leo's Partner) A bonus scene from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) where Leo talks about his night with Yuri to his partner. 
  * **Chapter 16: Otayuri Mafia AU ("Grit")** \-- (Explicit; Otayuri) A fever dream. 
  * **Chapter 17: Otayuri AU Zine ("The Tenor of Tango")** \-- (General; Otayuri) Professional Dancer AU. One of two pinch hit pieces I did for the Otayuri AU Zine, based on [Asce](https://twitter.com/LovTitania)'s beautiful art! 
  * **Chapter 18: Otayuri AU Zine ("Hey Hero")** \-- (General; Otayuri) Mermaid AU. One of two pinch hit pieces I did for the Otayuri AU Zine, based on [SuperSpicy](https://twitter.com/superspicy96)'s beautiful art! 



**CHAPTER 1: REQUESTS**

This'll be a landing chapter for any and all YOI-related requests. Obviously no guarantees, but if you have a particular thing you'd like to see, feel free to toss it out and maybe it'll get a drabble!


	2. Inherited Scars - Nixed Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first scrap was an epilogue I toyed around with for the [Inherited Scars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9071101/chapters/20630362) fic, but decided in the end it felt too weak to stand with the rest of the story.

Endings can always change.

Cycles can always be broken. 

Any choice made is an attempt to survive. Every choice is valid. 

So choose: 

**Choose Rebellion**

> The door closed and Victor saw the room in his head. 
> 
> He saw Yakov walking towards the lock, and before he could think he was moving, sprinting forward, racing that image in his mind. 
> 
> He got there right as Yakov did, shoving the office door open as Yakov was touching the metal. The wood slammed Yakov’s forehead and the knob jammed against his hand. Victor completely ignored the resulting yowl of pain and the shocked looks on Yakov and Yuri’s faces. 
> 
> “ _Victor_!” Yakov cursed. “Get out!”
> 
> “No,” Victor said, positioning himself between Yuri and Yakov. Yuri was frozen, silent, horrified. “This ends now, and if you try it again, ever again, I tell the world what you did to me.”
> 
> “You wouldn’t,” Yakov growled. “Who would believe you? What proof would you have?” 
> 
> “I wouldn’t need proof to discredit you,” Victor said, “only to imprison you.” He spoke with venom, a strength he didn’t know he was capable of. “Besides, how often are you out on the rink? How hard would it be to hide a camera in here? And the moment you try anything I’ve got all the proof I need.”
> 
> Yakov stared at Victor, and Victor stared back, refusing to give in to the panic that Yakov’s office always induced. He was through with being paralyzed. He was through with feeling small and weak and helpless.
> 
> Yakov laughed, slow and dark.
> 
> “You always loved surprising people, didn’t you, _Vitya_?”
> 
> Victor grabbed Yuri’s hand. 
> 
> “Never again, Yakov,” Victor warned, and he pulled Yuri to freedom.

**Choose Secrecy**

> Yuuri stared at the key Victor handed him, heartbroken, and never really believed it ended.
> 
> Yuri stopped showing up at their door, but Victor would still look sad and distant some days, and some nights he’d stay out late with Yuri under the guise of practice. Yakov still called for Yuri, and Yuri still pulled on his red sweatshirt and trekked into the office. 
> 
> And Yuuri? Yuuri couldn’t say a word. 
> 
> His performance degraded. He knew he was weak, but he never forgave himself for being unable to bear the knowledge of their abuse, when Victor and Yuri were each channeling it to make themselves stronger. The more he witnessed that pain, the more he saw Yakov and Yuri together, the further he distanced himself from his emotions, and the more his inspiration suffered.
> 
> When he went to the Grand Prix that year, it was as Victor’s fiancé - a member of the audience, not a competitor - and the next year, he didn’t even manage that.

**Choose Yourself**

> Victor taped the silver key to the inner door of Yuri’s locker. 
> 
> It stayed there for three years, never used, though Victor would quietly refill the other supplies he’d given Yuri as they disappeared. 
> 
> They never talked about it again. Victor would catch Yuri coming out of the office sometimes and hold out his arms, but Yuri always walked past him, offering glare or growl or insult. He’d seen how his burden affected others. He’d chosen to face his demons alone.
> 
> Over the course of those three years, Yuri’s body shifted, evolving from the waif-like figure of his debut to a lithe, beautiful man. 
> 
> As it did, the summons slowed, slowed, and finally ceased.
> 
> Yuri peeled the key out of his locker and brought it to Victor and Yuuri’s apartment. The twin beds were gone, replaced with a queen when they married, but otherwise it felt the same. 
> 
> “It’s over,” Yuri told them. He looked over at the bathroom door, remembering, and breathed. After a few moments of gazing at the key, he laid it down on the side table. “I don’t need this anymore.”
> 
> Victor held out his arms, and Yuuri’s eyes twinkled with unshed tears.
> 
> “We know,” Yuuri said softly. “But it’s OK to like it.”
> 
> And Yuri swam into their embrace.

**Don’t Choose**

> “Coach Katsuki!”
> 
> Dmitry skated up to Yuuri with a wave, his cheeks red with exertion and elation.
> 
> “Did you see me?” Dmitry asked. “How was my footwork?”
> 
> “Oh, mm,” Yuuri nodded, touching a finger to his lips. “Your step sequence could benefit from listening more to your music. Right now it’s very melodic, but misses the intensity. This is your senior debut; you want to impress the audience with your ferocity.” 
> 
> “Ah,” Dmitry ducked his head, an almost-bow he’d picked up from watching Yuuri over the years. “Spasibo!”
> 
> “See if Yakov will let you go again,” Yuuri encouraged, and Dmitry nodded, gliding over to the wall where Yakov stood. 
> 
> “Can I?” Dmitry asked. 
> 
> “You’re exhausted,” Yakov said. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Go clean up and come to my office.”
> 
> Something about his tone struck Yuuri, like the tang of a violin string, stirring an old memory. 
> 
> “Ok…” Dmitry frowned, his hand rubbing at his hair. 
> 
> It was like someone had put a shade over his light. 
> 
> “One more time, Yuri!” Victor called from the other side of the rink, laughing. Yuri shot Victor a coy smirk and began his free skate program again, an angel flying across the ice.
> 
> It couldn’t be, could it?
> 
> “Dmitry,” Yuuri called. The boy stopped and turned back to Yuuri.
> 
> “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to,” Yuuri said, on a whim.
> 
> Dmitry’s eyes flashed with surprise, then fear, then something sadder.
> 
> “I have to go.”

  
The universe is vast and infinitely fractal, every moment an opportunity for divergence, every instant a chance for change.

These were but a few.

So. 

How did you survive? What did you choose?


	3. Inherited Scars - Deleted Scene ("Aid")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a cut scene from [Inherited Scars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9071101). Originally, [Chapter 12](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9071101/chapters/21043967) was told from Victor's POV instead of Yuuri's. It went deeper into how badly Yakov had retaliated against Yuri and was also the first time Yuri let anyone else into the bathroom, his de facto haven at Victor and Yuuri's apartment. I thought it was an important step forward in showing Yuri's ability to ask for help (combined with using the key), and revealed a bit of Victor's abuse history.
> 
> In the end, I cut it because it felt almost voyeuristic, given the level of detail, and because by this time I knew what the ending was going to be, and that Yuri ultimately turned away Victor's aid.

The apartment door opened and Yuuri’s head shot up, overwhelmed with relief. He scrubbed at his eyes, clearing away the worst of his tears. On seeing the question in Victor’s eyes, he pointed to the bathroom. Victor nodded and came to Yuuri first, kissing him on the cheek.

“Are you okay?” Victor asked, rubbing Yuuri’s shoulders. He wasn’t, but Yuuri nodded all the same. Victor gave him a second kiss, then went to the bathroom door.

“Yuri. You know if you spend so much time in our bathroom we’ll have to charge rent,” Victor said as he stood beyond it. 

He heard a derisive snort, but the next moment there was a click as the door unlocked. Victor expected Yuri to step out, but there was no change. 

“… Do you want me to come in?” Victor asked, unsure how to interpret the gesture. 

“I don’t know what to do,” came Yuri’s strained reply. “Just — don’t look.”

“Okay,” Victor said. He opened the door slowly, giving Yuri plenty of time to object. As soon as it was wide enough for him to slip through the crack, he did, then turned away as he stepped inside, face to face with the door. 

“Did he tell you?”

“Only that you were bleeding,” Victor said. 

“… It's just a little bit, every so often, but it hasn't stopped.” There were several pregnant pauses, like he was about to speak again, but couldn’t find the words. 

“Inside or outside?” Victor asked. 

“I can’t — I don’t _know_ ,” Yuri said, anger and fear contorting his voice. 

“It’s okay,” Victor said, staring at the nodules of paint on the door. “Is it dark or bright?” 

“I — medium?” Yuri said. 

That wasn’t the best.

“It’ll heal,” Victor said, giving himself time to think. “I’m going to look for something in the cabinet, OK?”

Yuri just growled.

Victor stepped back, opened the mirror. He sifted through the contents, noting the jar of ointment already out on the counter, but it quickly became apparent that what he was looking for wasn’t there. He racked his memory. They’d had a house-warming party. Several of the women skaters had attended. Mila had wanted to make sure everyone was comfortable. 

He moved to the cabinet beneath the sink, and after a moment of shuffling found what he was looking for.

“This will help tell us where it’s coming from,” Victor said, unwrapping the little package.

“No,” Yuri said when he saw it. “Ugh - no, _no_.”

“It’ll help stop the blood,” Victor said, ever calm. “So your body can heal. That’s what it was designed for.”

He held it out in the direction of Yuri’s voice. 

“ _No_!”

Victor sighed. 

“You just… press it inside, then push down on this part. Then pull the plastic out and it’ll be done.”

There was a painful stretch of silence, then the sound of a few drips. 

Yuri took it.

Victor turned back to the door, hands wrapped loosely around his knees as he sat on the floor. 

Yuri inhaled sharply, cursed beneath his breath, and the porcelain seat shifted. Plastic clattered into the little waste bin. 

“If you tell anyone about this, ever, I slit your throat with my blades,” Yuri promised.

“I had to do it too,” Victor said. “Our secret.”

_What a lucky girlfriend, to have someone like you to take care of her,_ the clerk had said as he’d purchased the box. It seemed like another lifetime. Time passed, the silence pervasive, but that’s how it always seemed to go with Yuri. Maybe he just needed someone to be there, to feel a little less alone, even if he didn’t care for conversation.

“Your pig spooked in front of Yakov,” Yuri said. “He knows Yuuri knows.”

“That’s why he went rough on you?”

A sniff. “I guess.” 

“It was Chris for me,” Victor said. “We’d been flirting. Stupid nothings. But Yakov didn’t like it.”

“Chris flirts with everyone.”

Victor shrugged. “I don’t.”

Yuri snorted. Whether in denial or agreement Victor couldn't tell. 

“Did it get worse for you?” Yuri asked.

“Yes.”

Silence. 

Victor sighed, “It was always worst after competition, when he knew no one would see me for awhile. He could risk things that would take more than a night to recover from.”

“Did you ever have to go to a hospital?”

“Probably should have,” Victor said. “But I didn’t know how to explain it.”

Several tears of tissue paper. The hollow grind of the ointment jar being opened and closed. Not long after, the toilet flushed and the porcelain shifted. 

“I think it's working.”

“Take it out when you wake up. Carefully,” Victor said. “How’s the bruising? Do you want me to get the ice?”

The sound of clothes, then a hand on Victor’s shoulder. He twisted around to see Yuri, dressed in a simple tank top, Yuuri’s sweatpants hanging at his hips, low enough to show the bruising. The worst part was Yuri’s eyes - utterly and completely exhausted even as he tried to look cool and angry. 

“He _was_ mad,” Victor said, fingers going to touch but hovering before they made contact with Yuri’s skin. He dropped his hand to his side and stood. “Come on. You’re staying here tonight, OK?”

He walked out, aware of Yuuri’s immediate and focused attention and Yuri’s tentative steps behind him. 

“Peas, please” Victor said, and Yuuri was on his feet immediately while Victor walked Yuri to his bed. He turned down the covers, and Yuri tenderly sat. He took the peas from Yuuri and tucked them into place over Yuri’s hips once he’d laid down, then pulled the blanket up to Yuri’s shoulders. 

“Baka,” Yuri growled at him, but was too exhausted to reject the care. His eyes were on the TV, watching the kittens fight and play and sleep and fall headfirst into their milk.

Yuuri didn’t say a word, just sat on the couch and drank his tea and tried not to glance at them too often. 

“Want anything else?” Victor asked. Want, not need. 

Yuri didn’t say anything, but his hand slithered up from beneath the blanket. He grabbed Victor’s wrist, not looking at him, and brought his fingers to his hair. 

Victor combed through the strands, brushing the pads of his fingers along Yuri’s scalp.

“Beautiful little angel?” Yuri whispered, and Victor’s heart wrenched.

“Beautiful little angel.”


	4. Inherited Scars - Deleted Scene ("Boundaries")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another scene written during Inherited Scars. It was never super serious. While I thought about exploring this methodology as a way Yuri helped deal with his abuse, I didn't want to take it in the direction of Yuri and Victor developing a physical or romantic relationship. Still, this came out in the scrap bin, and here we are.

“Do you… are you with Yuuri because of him?” Yuri asked, voice soft and distant.

Victor rested his body weight against Yuri, flush in a way that was beginning to become familiar. They’d enacted their script again, and now Yuri was bent over the table, cheek resting on it, eyes far away. Victor was still holding his hips, but gentler now. 

It was getting easier. 

Yuri didn’t tense as much, Victor didn’t choke. They played out their history in the safety of each other’s company, and slowly began to adapt.

“What do you mean?” Victor asked. He brought his hand to Yuri’s hair, and Yuri made a half-snarl at the touch that soon faded into relaxation. He closed his eyes, easing the tension out of his body little by little. 

“You had girlfriends before,” Yuri said. “Didn’t you?”

“Oh…” Victor said. His brow knit but he kept stroking Yuri’s hair. “You mean, did what he do change me? Make me want to be with men?”

Yuri’s eyes flit open, flashing to Victor with simultaneous apology and inquiry. 

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Victor sighed. He looked down at the hand still on Yuri’s hip, at the way they were connected, clothed or not. “Because you get used to it. Your body adapts, after a few months. And one day you’re lying there, and you’ve prepared yourself, and you realize it’s no longer the worst feeling in the world.” Victor grimaced. “Then one day your body reacts to it.”

He brushed his thumb along the curve of Yuri’s ear. 

“Is that what happened? Why you’re worried?” Victor asked. 

Yuri’s teeth grit in pain and shame, such intense shame.

“I thought he was going to be angry,” Yuri said, voice trembling and muted, almost like a whimper. “I used a lot of the jelly; I didn’t want to be sore. It —”

He cut himself off and folded his arms in front of him so that he could bury his face amongst them.

Victor started to move away but Yuri reached back and grabbed his hip. With a soft sigh, Victor settled back into place, fingers cascading down Yuri’s back. “You’re sixteen, Yuri. When I was your age, putting on my costume could make me hard. If your body reacts it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean you enjoyed it. It doesn’t mean you like it. It doesn’t mean he’s changing you or breaking you or tainting you. It means you’re sixteen, and your body evolved to do exactly one thing, and it’s trying to do that.”

He had that overwhelming desire to wrap Yuri in his arms again. Instead he just kept gliding his palm over Yuri’s sweatshirt in broad circles, feeling the blades of his shoulders and hills of the muscles around them. 

“It’s disgusting,” Yuri muttered.

“But you’re not,” Victor said. “He can never make you disgusting. Your body is your life’s work, and it’s beautiful and healthy and functioning exactly as it was designed to. Don’t despair for that.”

Yuri’s cheeks went hot. The tension riled in his muscles before he forced it down again.

“So your girlfriends…?” he changed the subject.

“I tried seeing women because I thought it might be easier,” Victor said after a moment of consideration. “If they were different than him. But I’ve always…” he looked up at the ceiling, not having expected this conversation; not having expected this conversation would be so hard. “I’ve always found men to be more… intoxicating.”

Yuri tilted his head to the side again, and Victor watched him.

“How did you know?” Yuri asked.

“That I liked men?” Victor asked, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “You feel it inside when it happens, don’t you? You see someone and your heart beats stronger, or you find yourself thinking of them long after they’re gone.” He thought of Yuuri and smiled to himself, absently drawing little swirls on Yuri’s back. “You imagine being touched by them, or kissing them.”

Yuri twisted around, lifting off the table, so that they were chest to chest. Victor’s arms fell around him almost by accident, giving in to that earlier desire to embrace him. 

He was just going to press a kiss to the top of Yuri’s hair when Yuri tilted his head back and lifted up onto his toes. 

As their lips met, Victor’s eyes flew open, but Yuri’s were closed, pressing, until Victor pulled away.

He knew stepping away from Yuri might break him, so he stayed close, but his eyes adopted a sternness.

Yuri hunched in on himself, leaning against Victor’s chest with his face turned away.

“What was that?” Victor asked. But Yuri, true to form, just pushed away and stormed out of the apartment.


	5. Request: Moscow & Maccachin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [katsudon_kisses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/katsudon_kisses/pseuds/katsudon_kisses), from their request: _I don't really now if you could call this a request but I love how you write the Characters and also I kinda have a thing for angst so maybe something Viktor-centric with Angst? That's quite vague I know but maybe you have something in mind?_
> 
> Admittedly I didn't do a good job of keeping it angsty. Maybe I'll try something more canon-divergent next time.

Victor’s knuckles turned white as he watched the little loading dots animate endlessly over the stream. He refreshed the page again, desperate, checking and double checking the clock on his phone that said St. Petersburg. Moscow would be the same, and Yuuri’s performance was only a few minutes away.

 _Load!_ Victor cursed, fingers braced against his temple as he stared at his phone. 

One of the veterinary clinicians came to him and spoke, too quickly for Victor to understand. He’d picked up some Japanese during his stay in Hasetsu, but combined with his stress it might as well have been Hindi. She repeated herself, this time with gestures, and then pointed to a sign: a cell phone with a bold red X over it.

He couldn’t miss Yuuri. 

Standing, he lingered by the door to the examination rooms, but there was no sign of the vet.

 _Hold on, Maccachin_ , Victor said. 

Walking as briskly as he could manage, he stepped outside the clinic and reloaded the page again. Even in the open air, his reception was hardly improved, and the loading animation haunted him.

“ _Yebat!_ ” Victor cursed aloud, hand tangling in his hair. “Davai, davai!”

He sank onto one of the benches, cradling his head as he pressed refresh again.

 _I should be there_ , Victor berated himself. _I never should have left_.

The clock ticked past the time Yuuri was supposed to start and Victor slammed the phone against his thigh, covering his face in his hands. First Maccachin, now this. Victor’s hands tightened into fists above his knees. He never used to get anxious on the ice, and it was his job to be cool and collected for Yuuri, but now?

 _I’m sorry, Yuuri_.

What if he choked? What if Yuuri didn’t make the cut for Grand Prix? Victor would never forgive himself. He would have failed as Yuuri’s coach, and more than that. He was more than that to Yuuri, even if he didn’t know what that meant yet. He still felt it as he stared at the swirling dots. 

_You’re probably skating right now_.

Victor closed his eyes, imagining the free skate. 

No… he was imagining Yuuri.

 _This is the first day in months I woke up without you near me_ , Victor thought. On the flight he’d absently looked to the side, expecting to see Yuuri’s rumpled hair and sleepy face. Instead, there’d been a tiny Japanese woman who looked at Victor like he might be feeling unwell. 

“ _Gomen…_ ” Victor had whispered. He’d heard that one enough from Yuuri to know it by heart.

 _I didn’t realize how used to your presence I’ve become_.

Victor looked at the clock. Yuuri’s performance was surely over. His fate had been decided, and Victor had been thousands of miles away, unable even to watch. His heart sank.

 _I don’t like it when you aren’t near me_.

Victor opened his messages from Yuuri, but found he didn’t know what to say. He scrolled up through their history: silly pictures from Moscow, embarrassing ones from their dinner with Phichit and Celestino. 

His thumb paused over one, a selfie he’d surprised Yuuri with before they left Hasetsu. They were in Yuuri’s bedroom, and Yuuri was trying to sleep. Victor had climbed into the bed and laid back beside him, holding the phone up over both them. Yuuri had closed his eyes and tried to wince away from the photo, but as Victor’s arm slid around him he’d finally looked up, blushing, happy.

Victor swallowed, just staring at that photo. Staring at Yuuri’s blush. At the glow in his eyes.

He flicked back to the live stream, but paused before tapping refresh. 

For now, he didn’t know. Perhaps Yuuri choked, and it was over, and he’d lose the greatest thing he’d ever had in his life. 

Victor’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to refresh. He couldn’t bear to know.

_How do you make me feel this way?_

Maybe it wasn’t that Victor was more than just a coach to Yuuri. 

Maybe it was that Victor’s whole world had come to revolve around Yuuri, and he wanted nothing more than for it to continue that way. 

_I’ve found my sun_ , Victor realized.

“Nikiforov?” the clinician said as she opened the door. 

“Hai,” Victor stood immediately. 

The woman gestured and Victor followed her inside, back to a row of kennels, one of which was filled with a very tired, but very alive Maccachin. 

“Maccachin!” Victor exclaimed, tears in his eyes as he watched Maccachin’s tail start to wag. As overwhelming as the relief was, Victor found himself still choked up, still an anxious wreck. He pressed his face into Maccachin’s dense, curly fur as soon as the kennel door opened and used that to hide his distress. Maccachin whined, and Victor straightened, petting his back and neck.

It didn’t take long for Yuuri’s family to arrive, and Victor spent that time just slowly petting Maccachin and trying not to think of the possibility that his world had ended. He still couldn’t bring himself to refresh, but he knew when they walked in he’d be able to read it off their faces. 

And he should know before that, shouldn’t he?

He was, after all, Yuuri’s coach. 

Victor had never been religious, but he found himself wanting to pray as his thumb hovered over the refresh button on the standings page. 

_Please_ , he begged, and tapped.

His heart stopped. 4th: Katsuki Yuuri.

He’d failed.

“No, no,” Victor mumbled. That couldn’t be right. Yuuri was supposed to —

 _Due to tied scores, Yuri Katsuki will take the sixth opening in the Grand Prix Final_ , he read. 

Victor’s fingertips came to his mouth, resting against his lips as he stared. 

_Yuri Katsuki will take the sixth opening in the Grand Prix Final_.

He read it again, and a third time, just to be sure, and then his eyes lost focus on the sentence and he stared somewhere past it. He’d almost lost Maccachin, but he’d almost lost Yuuri too.

And now the relief finally set in, tearful and agonizing and beautiful all at once. 

Yuuri’s family mistook it for emotions about Maccachin, and he let them.

 _Your son is my world_ was probably not what they expected to hear, so Victor kept his thoughts to himself as they drove back to Yu-topia, Maccachin in Victor’s lap, celebrating Yuuri’s victory.

 _He is my world, and I will do everything in my power to help him succeed_.

The twelve hours until Yuuri’s arrival were their own torture, one that Victor spent staring at that picture on his phone and wondering how he got here and wishing, wishing more than anything, that Yuuri was next to him. He wanted to grab onto Yuuri and never let him go, and he’d never realized it - not with this much clarity, though he’d felt it since that drunken night long ago - until now. 

He must have spent days in that plastic airport chair, waiting for Yuuri, and when he finally saw him Victor felt his heart fall apart all over again. Then he was running, they were both running, and Victor enveloped Yuuri in a suffocating hug.

 _This is where I belong_ , Victor thought. _With you_.

When Victor tried to speak Yuuri jumped ahead, and his words resonated in Victor like a soft silver bell. “Please be my coach until I retire.”

For a long moment he didn’t know how to respond. It was, after all, everything he wanted. Well… almost.

He took Yuuri’s hand and brought his ring finger to his lips. 

“It’s almost like a proposal,” Victor said softly. 

_I want it to be a proposal_.

Yuuri stared at him, shocked for only a moment, and then that expression came back: blushing, shy, but so happy. They fell into a hug once more and Victor rested his cheek against Yuuri’s hair, closing his eyes. 

“I wish you’d never retire.”

_I want to be with you._

_Forever._


	6. Microfic: Little Ice Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was waiting to post this because I thought I'd actually flesh it out into something complete. I love the idea of competition between subs, especially in a dom-takes-all situation. BUT it's been sitting on my computer for almost two months, and I cannibalized a bunch of the (emotional) ideas for [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) and [A Gift for the Tsar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9236909), and at this point it just doesn't feel exciting anymore. So, here's the original fodder.

_Five tests altogether: Beauty, Body, Ability, Obedience, and Tolerance. The requisites for any pet worth their collar. And the winner? Well - the winner gets them both for a night._

Otabek Altin clasped Yuri’s hips, each finger light as a feather yet together they created an inescapable vice. He could lift the boy easily, toss him aside, lead him to the ends of the earth and back with that grip. His hands were as good as a harness, as clear as a collar. He owned the boy before him, and the boy, hips angled to feel more pressure from those hands, luxuriated in being owned.

Yuri, lip curled in a perpetual half-snarl, glowered at his competition.

“Your Yuri looks feral,” Victor mused to Otabek. Victor stood opposite Otabek on the edge of the deserted rink, his hand at the back of another Yuuri’s neck. This one had jet black hair where the other had blonde, and a simmering insecurity where Otabek’s Yuri frothed with pride and confidence. Both wore black leather bands at their necks and wrists.

“You’ll envy that by dawn,” Otabek parried. His hands drew Yuri back until the young soldier’s body was against his, and the ballerina bent at the waist to snap his teeth towards Victor and simultaneously press against his keeper. The air between them crackled, emotions thunderous in the empty stadium.

“Don’t listen, Eros,” Victor said as his Yuuri blushed. Then, to Otabek: “Who goes first?” 

Otabek reached into a near invisible pocket at his Yuri’s hip, a seam in the sheer, skin-tight material. As his fingers curved around the boy’s thigh Yuri smirked to the opposing pair, tongue visible in the dark crescent between his parted lips. Otabek pulled out a single coin, extended his hand to show it to Victor, and then prepared to flip. 

“Eagle,” Victor called it in midair, but Otabek revealed the denomination instead.

Otabek looked at Victor’s Yuuri - as good as a quivering puppy for how he shied into his keeper - and nodded him onto the ice. 

They’d start with Ability. 

“Remember your training,” Victor said as he pulled the guards off Yuuri’s skates and slid the jacket off Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri was left in a costume not dissimilar to his opponent’s - sheer material, skin tone almost everywhere, a virtually see-through sheath to protect his body from the ice but designed to hide less than nothing. 

Victor could see the worry building in his Yuuri and touched his fingers to Yuuri’s neck again, just below the band. “Eros. Calm down,” he commanded. “This is only the first test. It doesn’t matter.” Victor stepped close, lowered his voice: “With what you can do off the ice, there is no way Otabek can win.” Then, when Yuuri still hesitated, a smarting strike to his backside. “Go.”

Victor queued Yuuri’s track and the music haunted the otherwise empty rink. Otabek and his Yuri watched as the figure on ice blossomed, limbs stretching into perfect extensions. His footwork built gradually, spiraling outward until his speed peaked and he spiked into the air. As soon as his blade touched down another jump followed, faster, tighter, and out - all perfect. As titillating as the leaps were, the sensuality between meant just as much. 

The final jump ended with Yuuri’s hand skidding across the ice. He recovered quickly, but it had been too much - too many jumps for too long. Pulling himself into a tight spin, he re-centered himself and ended with a final, powerful pose. Victor didn’t have to glance at the pair to know Otabek’s Yuri would be all but salivating with schadenfreude at the mistake.

As Victor’s Yuuri came off the ice, the other glanced back at his keeper for permission before striding forward. His mouth opened, a quip on the tip of his tongue, but pets weren’t to speak unless spoken to, and so he simply snarled and stepped onto the ice.


	7. Breath of Blossoms - Interlude ("Intimacy")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an interlude from one of the alternate endings of [Breath of Blossoms](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9406640). Yuuri discovers Victor's hanahaki disease and is determined to show his love to Victor. 
> 
> (If you happen to be one of the folks subscribed to me and are super fast on the draw, DON'T READ THIS YET -- It's a little side-scene for one of the alternate endings I'm about to post. Read the ending first, then read this.)
> 
> **TAGS:** Explicit (Soft Core), Victor/Yuuri, First Time, Hanahaki

“You’re trembling…” Victor whispered, feeling the tiny shivers through their hug. They hadn’t even made it to the bed yet and Yuuri was already so nervous, a constant redness in his cheeks and a wide-eyed, fearful anticipation about him.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri murmured, hands clenching at his sides. 

“Yuuri… we don’t have to do this,” Victor said. “You’re so afraid, you can’t be enjoying this…”

“I’m not afraid!” he denied, a bit too ferociously. He admonished himself and winced his eyes closed for a second before speaking: “I want to,” he said. “Please. Victor. I want to help you.”

Victor frowned. He had a habit of brushing his thumb over Yuuri’s skin while he thought, and the digit took several laps across Yuuri’s collar bone before Victor spoke again.

“We don’t have to go all the way. Let’s not, tonight, okay? Let’s just… figure out what feels good,” Victor murmured. 

Some of the anticipation seemed to seep out of Yuuri, the stoniness of his body softening like wax near a flame. “Okay.”

Victor kept brushing Yuuri’s skin until the shakes subsided, sighing softly near Yuuri’s ear as his hand trailed over Yuuri’s back, soaking up the linear bumps of his spine and fanning out at the curve above his hips. “Does this feel good?”

Yuuri nodded, head resting on Victor’s shoulder. He moved his hand lower, to Yuuri’s hip and thigh, brushing along his side. 

“This?”

“Yes.”

Victor shifted, holding Yuuri with one arm and angling him so they weren’t flush chest to chest. There was just enough space that Victor could move his hand between Yuuri’s legs and smooth his palm over Yuuri’s inner thigh. The reaction was immediate: a languorous shiver that Victor felt pass from his shoulders all the way down.

“What about this?” he whispered.

Yuuri was blushing, and all he could do was nod. 

Victor’s hand rose until it collided with the tightening bulge at the crook of Yuuri’s jeans, stressing the material outward. 

Yuuri swallowed. 

“This?” Victor asked. Another nod, and then Victor was cupping it in his hand and letting the heel of his palm move up and down, up and down. 

“Victor,” Yuuri breathed.

“Mmm,” Victor’s response was a thoughtful, comforting hum as he touched Yuuri, mindful of both the lingering hesitation in Yuuri’s posture and the increasing solidity beneath his fingertips. He danced carefully, on the edge of consent, wishing for a vibrant response and getting only the soft, shy shivers of a virgin.

Victor slid his hand away, instead curling his fingers underneath Yuuri’s shirt and lifting it up over his head. Then he took off his own, pulled Yuuri closer, and drew Yuuri into his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

Victor distracted him with kisses, exchanging several while Victor’s hand continued between Yuuri’s legs, providing an edge of pleasure through the taut denim. When he was breathless from the kisses, he pulled back and his fingers flicked at the button of Yuuri’s jeans. 

“Is this okay?” Victor asked.

Instead of answering Yuuri slipped out of Victor’s lap and stood. He was blushing but steely as he unzipped the pants and slid them down his hips, followed by his underwear. Then he was naked in front of Victor, fidgeting, and Victor spent a long moment just adoring Yuuri with his eyes, letting his gaze linger for the first time on Yuuri’s naked form. In the locker and at the spring he’d always feigned indifference, but now he drank in the sight of his lover.

With an appraising and appreciative eye, he stood and turned down the sheets.

“Come on, Yuuri; you’ll get cold,” Victor said, and Yuuri slipped between the cool sheets and curled up, something about the safety of the bed steadying him.

When Yuuri was in bed, Victor followed suit, stripping down until he was naked and then sliding under the covers, facing Yuuri. He scooted closer, until their legs could lace together, and he felt the hardness of Yuuri against his thigh, and his own, far clearer, lightly jousting Yuuri’s abdomen.

Yuuri ducked his head, flush.

“Can I keep touching you?” Victor asked, and it wasn’t until Yuuri nodded that his hand slid down Yuuri’s side, then between his legs. 

Victor had touched Yuuri almost everywhere before, whether in the hot springs or in the midst of pair stretches or helping Yuuri into his costume. But he had never touched _there_ and the sudden sensation of fingers that were not his own in his most intimate place had Yuuri gasping. 

Yuuri stared at Victor, fearful but with a slowly rising excitement. Victor smiled at him as he stroked, so slow at first, more mapping out the shape and curve and feel of Yuuri’s body than directly pleasuring him. He kissed the tip of Yuuri’s nose, and Yuuri adopted that sweet expression of pure adoration. Yuuri’s lips found Victor’s, and his body moved forward, into the touch, and finally it felt like Yuuri wanted something and wasn’t just forcing himself for Victor’s sake. 

It was the most erotic shift.

The angle and position wasn’t good for anything extended, but Victor used a few long, slow strokes and felt the way Yuuri’s body began to tighten and anticipate the downward motions - to press forward into them. 

He was feeling good. 

Victor was making him feel good. 

The first time Yuuri moaned against Victor’s lips he thought he might die, and the tightness in his chest eased for a moment as he pressed back against Yuuri with renewed strength. 

He guided Yuuri onto his back, making it easier for Victor to touch uninhibited, and his fingertips played across Yuuri’s flesh almost like they were skating on his skin. 

“Do you like this?” Victor smiled, dropping kisses along Yuuri’s cheek, neck, shoulder. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“Eros?” Victor purred. 

“Yes,” Yuuri sighed. “Please keep touching me,” he asked, gently, and Victor’s lips broke into a smile against Yuuri’s shoulder as he wound his hand around Yuuri again and resumed his smooth strokes. 

Yuuri covered his face with a pillow as his body started to tremble, groaning into the plushness as his buttocks tightened and he thrust up into Victor’s hand. He was getting close and starting to pant and Victor slowly pushed the pillow back from Yuuri’s face because he so desperately wanted to see what Yuuri looked like as he came. 

“Victor,” Yuuri blushed, begging, embarrassed but so wanting. It was a warning too. One of Yuuri’s hands still clawed at the pillow but the other was wrapped around Victor’s shoulders and clutched desperately. “Victor, Victor,” Yuuri whispered with every push of Victor’s hand. 

When it happened, Yuuri’s whole body went taut as a board, hips even lifting off the mattress for a moment. His mouth opened, like a gasp, or a wince, and his eyes slammed shut.

Victor coughed, silently, at how stunning he looked, and hid the petals away before Yuuri’s eyes opened, dreamy and stunned. 

The tissue box was close enough for Victor to grab a few and clean up, and then he crossed his arms over Yuuri’s torso and half laid across him, gazing down with a glow of love.

Keeping his eyes up under that gaze was always hard for Yuuri, but he bit his lip and managed it and even leaned up to kiss Victor before hiding under the pillow again. Victor grabbed the pillow, chuckling fondly, and pushed it aside to leave his own kiss on Yuuri’s mouth. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Victor said. “That was beautiful.”

This, of course, only darkened Yuuri’s cheeks. 

“So beautiful,” Victor sighed, and he set his cheek against Yuuri’s stomach, listening to the swift rush of blood through his veins. He might have fallen asleep like that, were it not for Yuuri’s sudden revelation.

Yuuri pulled his elbows back, propping himself up. He glanced over Victor’s half-sheeted body. “… Do I touch you now?”

Victor rolled his shoulders, a picture of contentment. “You don’t have to. Do you want to?” 

Yuuri considered, and for a moment Victor thought they would just curl up and rest together, but then he saw the flash of stamina in Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri nodded.

Victor wasn’t the only one in the relationship who enjoyed surprising people.

Yuuri sat up, nudging Victor off of him, and Victor rolled to his back. 

“I don’t really know—“ Yuuri started.

“Just… like what you do to yourself,” Victor said. 

For some reason that didn’t help. If anything, Yuuri blushed harder. 

“…. You don’t touch yourself?”

“Once!” Yuuri said. Coughed. “A few times.” Yuuri looked genuinely upset for a moment, “Will you teach me?”

Victor sat up, pulled Yuuri into the tightest hug, and showered him in tiny kisses. “Yuuri! I’m your coach. I’ll teach you anything.” 

He grinned at how comfortable Yuuri suddenly seemed, knowing he had Victor’s guidance. 

Victor decided to run with it, catching Yuuri’s chin and gazing into his eyes. “First, show me what you know.”

Yuuri knelt beside Victor, nodded. “ _Hai_.”

Victor propped himself up against a pillow and pushed the covers down, untroubled by the chill. He widened his legs enough that Yuuri wouldn’t be impeded, then relaxed. He’d softened somewhat but his flesh was still thick and becoming moreso as Yuuri’s hands approached. Victor was surprised at how eager he was, at how intensely he found himself anticipating that first brush of Yuuri’s fingers. 

Yuuri didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Victor, flesh settling easily into his palm, and gave a gentle downward push to help harden him. It was a near instant reaction, suddenly stiff and rigid and Yuuri had an easy time stroking from there. 

There wasn’t any sort of rocket science to this kind of behavior, the most primal gesture of self gratification. Yuuri’s hold was simple, his strokes relatively well-paced, and that covered the basic necessity of pleasure. It took a minute for Victor to remember he was supposed to be coaching Yuuri, too lost at first by just the simple wonder of Yuuri touching him. 

He surveyed Yuuri’s form, realized he was only using his wrist in the gesture. 

“Your wrist will get sore like that,” Victor said, surprised at how raspy his voice was. “Try letting it come through your shoulder and forearm so you don’t tire yourself out.” 

“Like this?” and Victor groaned, because it had the side effect of making Yuuri’s knuckles glide more firmly against the sensitive base of his glans. 

“Perfect,” Victor said, and Yuuri’s smile was simultaneously sweet and cocky, like he’d just discovered a new trick and had every intention of using it against his coach. 

Yuuri could get him there with only that touch, but Victor was supposed to be teaching him, so after a minute he wet his lips and spoke again.

“Try to mix up your strokes,” Victor said. “Do one thing for a little bit, then try something new. You always want to surprise and delight your audience.” 

“And my coach,” Yuuri said. He’d been going purely along the shaft, but at Victor’s encouragement he tightened his fist and just used his thumb to swim in tiny circles around the tip. That was the first time Victor’s hips tightened automatically and thrust upward.

“ _Yes_ ,” Victor groaned.

It wasn’t so much that Yuuri’s touch was magical, that it felt incredible, that he was hitting all the right spots at all the right times. It was the fact that it was _Yuuri_ that made Victor moan with pleasure and roll his eyes back and hump gently into his fist.

Yuuri explored, switching hands, using two hands, only stroking downward, only stroking one side, using his entire hand, using just his fingertips, and Victor adored every moment of it.

“I’m close so —“ Victor groaned “— don’t switch it up anymore. Just keep going. I just need a little bit more, Yuuri.” 

Whatever stamina Yuuri had on the ice clearly extended to the bedroom. His muscles showed no signs of exhaustion, and if anything he was reinvigorated by Victor’s words. Victor grabbed the sheets, staring at Yuuri’s hand, biting his lip, _needing_.

“Harder, Yuuri,” Victor begged, and the pressure around him increased. Perfect, _perfect_.

“Yuuri, ah!” Victor said, and then, as he was coming, just as quickly: “Don’t stop!” Because Yuuri had frozen and Victor just needed to ride through this, to get all of that pleasure out of him. Yuuri resumed the strokes, staring almost mystified as Victor came.

“Easy, slow,” Victor begged as the feeling started to fade and he found himself hyper-sensitive. Yuuri’s hand slowed, decelerating until Yuuri opened his palm and the softening skin fell to rest on Victor’s stomach. 

Victor groaned his appreciation. 

“Yuuri,” he said, grabbing tissues and wiping away the mess as quickly as he could so that he could pull Yuuri under the covers for another round of kisses. “That felt so good.”

“It was good?”

“So good,” Victor purred. “Did you enjoy it?” 

Yuuri blushed, nodded. “I’ve never seen you look that way before.”

“That’s _my_ eros,” Victor smiled. He felt something in his throat and willed it down, not wanting to ruin the moment with whatever came up. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and smiled, ignoring the faint scent of cherry blossoms. “Rest now.”

But Yuuri was already snuggling up to Victor’s side, head pillowed in the crook of his arm, legs tangling together.

“I still want to do more,” Yuuri murmured, and Victor smiled, closed his eyes, and let his hand curve around Yuuri’s backside, promising for later.

“Rest now.”


	8. ADKOC - Interlude ("Aftermath")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an interlude from [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) that handles some of the aftermath from Chapter 9, as requested by [Sintina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina).
> 
> I usually include aftercare as a pretty important part of my smut fics, but in this case the chapter was SO LONG. So here you have it...
> 
> **RATING** : M

They rested like that for a few minutes, sipping their juice, coming down off their highs. Yuri fell asleep almost instantly, and Yuuri looked like he might do the same. 

“Did you enjoy any of that, Otabek?” Victor asked into the silence, at last. 

Otabek was quiet for so long Victor wondered if he’d heard him, but then Otabek spoke.

“Seeing him like this, and being a part of it…” Otabek began. “I never thought I would.”

Victor’s smile softened, turned appreciative. “There’s always a way. He looked like he really enjoyed you." 

Otabek nodded.

“And you seemed to be comfortable taking on some authority,” Victor said. 

“Commanding you?” Otabek asked. 

“Being one of the prime examples…”

“That was so hot,” Yuuri grinned, laying down with his head in Victor’s lap. “ _Fuck my boy_ ,” Yuuri echoed, groaning and putting his hand between his legs. “I’m going to jerk off to that for months.” His eyes snapped to Otabek. “Otabek, you’re _really_ good at this already.”

Otabek wasn’t the type to blush; if anything the compliment made him look almost uncomfortable for a moment.

“I just watched how you both treat him,” Otabek said. “…you do it all for him, don’t you?”

Victor ran a hand through his hair. “A natural authoritarian and perceptive, too? Be still my heart…” Victor stretched, gazing at the sleeping bundle tucked against Otabek’s chest. 

“Yes,” Victor said. “We’re both quite fond of him, and it’s a pleasant change of pace for us to take care of someone new. Plus, he so desperately wants to sub, and he’s communicative and clear about his needs —“ 

“Bossy bottom, more like,” Yuuri smirked, but Victor just pinched one of his ass cheeks.

“Hush. He’s just young,” Victor said. “You were too busy shaking our first few times to say anything at all.”

Yuuri blushed. “I was young!” 

The two exchanged a look, some fond memory passing between them, and then Victor was sliding his hand through Yuuri’s hair, a picture of contentment. 

“He’s probably out for the night, isn’t he?” Victor asked, nodding to sleeping Yuri. Otabek nodded. “Yuuri and I will set up the mats in the practice room. You two can take our bed for tonight.”

Otabek glanced over at the pink and blue comforter, then back at Victor. 

“It’s very comfortable,” Victor swore. “More comfortable than the mats. But if you’d prefer those, you’re welcome to them. Plus, you have a door you can close, whereas here…” he gestured to the open space connecting the kitchenette, their bedroom, and the living room. 

“We’ll take the mats,” Otabek said.

Yuuri was the one who stretched to his feet first, yawning as he grabbed his pants and pulled them on again. He trekked to the practice room to start setting up and Victor followed him. 

Otabek was left on the couch, hugging Yuri. Yuri looked so peaceful, so content. Otabek brushed the hair back from his eyes, revealing Yuri’s full, delicate face. He laid a careful kiss on Yuri’s forehead, hardly believing his luck in that moment. When Victor and Yuuri returned, Otabek lifted Yuri up, blanket and all, and brought him to the practice room. The tatami mats had been laid out over the wooden floor, covered with thick quilts. 

“If you need anything we’re just outside,” Victor said. “Any toiletries are in the bathroom. There’s some fresh toothbrushes and —“ 

“Thank you,” Otabek said. 

Victor paused, staring at Otabek’s dark eyes, suddenly warm where normally they had a chilling distance. 

“For this,” Otabek said, gesturing to Yuri’s coiled body on the mat. 

“We had nothing to do with it,” Victor smiled softly. “He wanted you from the very start. You’re his anchor. You’re his dream. We just did what we could to help it happen.”

Victor closed the door gently, flicking off the lights. He joined Yuuri in the bathroom to clean up, then curled around him in bed, fingers laced together.

“Love you,” Yuuri murmured.

“Love you.”


	9. ADKOC - Interlude ("Sickness & Health")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been making much progress on ADKOC due to travel-induced sickness. I _am_ however lucid enough to babble, and this happened last night between [Sintina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina) and I while I was working on the Club chapter.

Yuri’s sudden sickness - he blamed his angels - was the perfect excuse for Otabek, Victor, and Yuuri to fawn over him.

Otabek held him and snuggled, providing heat when he was cold and peeling the blankets away when he was hot. Victor was there with entertainment and an endless scroll of youtube videos and gifs featuring tiny animals. Yuuri played chef, cooking little meals for him and ensuring he always had water at the nightstand. They were a three-man around-the-clock nursing service, and Yuri soaked up the attention like a sponge.

A sick, snot-infested sponge.

They all fell asleep in the bed that night, Victor and Yuuri loosely sandwiching the other couple.

Yuuri and Victor's hands found one another's over the fillings of their sandwich, Yuuri reaching forward, Victor reaching back.  Their fingers clasped, loose and light, unable to fully grip given the gap between them. It should have been more of a stretch, only Yuri liked to burrow into Otabek until they were basically one person, making their group hug far more achievable.

Otabek took a moment to reflect as his eyelids grew heavy. It was weird, having Victor flush against him, but Otabek decided he didn’t mind. He was used to Yuri’s body pressed against him, and Victor’s wasn’t that different. They were just back to back, anyways, and the heat was... well, the heat was quite nice, actually. He could get used to this, actually: this confusion of bodies all braided together, the rise and fall of chests synchronizing and desynchronizing, legs tangled and arms tucked, a lullaby of breathing…

\--

They knocked Yuri out with cold meds, meaning their kitten actually slept through the night. Otabek expected to be up every hour to his sneezing and coughing and fidgeting. Instead, Otabek woke up to Victor gently removing his arm from Otabek's waist, having slipped there on instinct some time while they dreamt.

"It's OK," Otabek murmured, ever so softly, cognizant of the two cubs in front of him still asleep.

Victor wasn't fully awake, so he happily replaced his arm. There wasn't anywhere else comfortable to put it, anyway, unless he rolled over— and that wasn't happening. Happily settled, he dozed off once more.

Otabek's forearm came down to blanket Victor's, his fingers gliding into the valleys between Victor's knuckles. 

Yuri was completely oblivious, sound asleep, but Yuuri's breathing pattern had changed, just slightly, and he peeked from beneath his lashes, saw the delicate interplay of digits. His chest flushed, a far softer sort of warmth suffusing his heart than their combined body heat. He didn't want to move, didn't want to break it. His eyes closed again, and he pressed the gentlest kiss to the back of Yuri's neck.

Yuri flinched and Otabek felt it. 

Otabek was steadfastly awake at that point, feeling the sensations all around him and trying to process them.

This was how it all started, really, for him.

Wanting this.

Wanting to hold and be held.

He never imagined he'd find that; had convinced himself over and again that he was broken, beyond fixing, unpartnerable. It was part of why he'd thrown himself against the ice with all his heart.

And yet....

He squeezed Victor's hand, laid his cheek down against Yuri's hair.

Here he was. With all he'd ever wanted. More than he'd ever dreamed.

It was unorthodox. It was different.

He thought it was weird at first: that someone, let alone many someones, would want to be part of this with him, for him. But he couldn't deny the simple truth of this group embrace. As much as he wanted to logic his way out of this. Disbelieve it in the extreme.

He was held.

He was holding a man who loved him more than anything, it seemed.

It was exactly as Yuri always said: _Perfect_.

\--

Then Yuri sneezed.

It was wet and gross and all over Otabek's chest, and within a split second the other two, who had been half-between sleep, were awake with laughter, giggling in their morning energy with amusement and empathy.

Victor had the tissues, because he always did, and Yuuri cuddled his counterpart when he tried to hide beneath the blankets in shame. Yuri was still a snotty mess, sleep in his eyes, nasal-voiced as he uttered mortified apologies to his partner.

And Otabek just kissed him.

Because what else mattered, really?

Nothing. Nothing mattered more than his booger-faced beauty.

Besides, it wasn't time to get up yet. And none of them wanted to anyway. 

Yuuri pet and stroked Yuri's hair out of his face after the teenager blew his nose emphatically and dropped numerous tissues into the small waste basket Victor held out to him. Through it all, Otabek rubbed one hand up and down Yuri's chest and ribs, applying a light pressure to the sinewy, achy muscles. 

"Here." Victor handed Otabek some Vapor-rub. 

Victor was still behind Otabek, and when Otabek took the little container Victor's hand returned to Otabek's waist: a loose hold, almost platonic in a strange way, but close and comfortable and exactly what Otabek wanted.

"Lay on your back, kitten," Yuuri urged, guiding Yuri into position, jostling the pillow beneath his head to fluff it until Yuri was comfortable. Yuri was still embarrassed, but he glanced between the two people who loved him and blushed for a very different reason.

Otabek gelled his fingertips in the stuff, and the moment they connected with Yuri's chest the kitten let out a melodic sigh of contentment and gratitude. Yuuri peppered his hair in kisses, watching Otabek's hand circle Yuri's sternum and the faint dip between his pectorals. The menthol burned its blissful way up Yuri's nostrils, leaving an icy numbness in its wake. It felt so refreshing he instinctively took a deep inhale through his mouth and the sensation repeated itself: tingles across his tongue, the roof of his mouth, and down his throat. The giddy little smile that tickled his cheeks and eyes made each of the men looking down on him grin in turn. 

Victor thought the whole display so wonderful he had to bury his eyes away from it for a moment. Undone by cute. He leaned his fringe into Otabek's neck.

The soft hum of contentment was out of Otabek's mouth before he knew it existed, and even Yuri fluttered his eyes open in surprise to see his lover express such things.

Victor peeked from behind Otabek, a smile in his eyes, and Yuri - who expected perhaps to be jealous, perhaps to be afraid - was instead so elated that these two men whom he idolized each in his own way (though god forbid he ever admit it) were enjoying one another's proximity.

Also, he could breathe again. Mostly.

Otabek twisted the top of the container back on and handed it over his shoulder to Victor's waiting palm. Victor didn't detach his lower body from the warmth of Otabek's beneath the covers as he placed the jar on the side table. He then snuggled back into position, but leaned up on one elbow to look down at the tiger. 

"Do you need any other medicine? Something to help you rest, maybe?" 

Yuri couldn’t help himself: his eyes scrunched up and he extended his arms under the men to his left and right.

“Got it." 

"And we'll certainly help you sleep," Yuuri teased.

Yuri groaned. The fact that he was too sick for innuendo was a testament to the virus' potency, but he kissed Yuuri again all the same before snuggling into his man, eyes going heavy now that he could actually breathe.

"Stay with me a little bit longer?" he asked the three as he felt himself drifting.

"Of course, love," Yuuri murmured. He resumed his big spoon, reaching across Otabek and Yuri to find Victor's forearm.

Otabek kissed Yuri's crown. 

"Sleep well," Victor whispered. 

They’d all forgotten an alarm was going to go off in 34 minutes, but that was okay. 

Yuri would have been useless on the ice anyway.


	10. ADKOC - Interlude ("Or Don't Communicate")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interlude from the [A Different Kind of Coaching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) series. This one takes place after Chapter 17, once Otabek and Yuri have their first intense pain session. This chapter is rated M for discussion of sex/kink, but nothing sexual occurs.

The next week, the change in both Yuri and Otabek was palpable. 

“Is Otabek OK?” Yuuri finally had to ask, when Otabek and Victor had gone off for lunch together and left their partners at the rink. 

Yuri was staring at a microwave lunch spinning while it warmed up. 

“Uh?” Yuri asked. “I think so.”

“He seems… distracted? Did something happen?”

Yuri hissed and glared as he got his meal ready, nearly burning himself several times before taking it over to the table where Yuuri had his bento box. 

“Where’d you find that?” Yuri huffed. 

“Victor made it,” Yuuri said. “It’s his latest infatuation with Japanese culture.” 

“At least he stopped wearing the robes.”

“In public,” Yuuri sighed. 

But it was near impossible to be upset when you had Makkachin-shaped rice balls staring up at you.

“He punished me,” Yuri said with a half shrug, voice lowered so no one else would hear. “It was intense.” He looked frustrated for a moment, before that calm took over again. “I started crying? I don’t know. I just… like it hurt a lot and then I was just sobbing?”

“Wow,” Yuuri blinked. “What did Otabek say when you talked about it?”

Yuri made a face at his meal, or so Yuuri thought, until the teen steadfastly avoided the question.

“YURI!” Yuuri choked. “You didn’t talk about it!?”

“It just happened, alright?!” Yuri hissed. “And then we fell asleep and when we woke up we had to go to the ice and it’s just been texts since, cause we’ve been busy and…” 

“ _Yuri_ ,” Yuuri stressed. “You _have_ to talk to him!”

“What do I say?! I’m sorry I freaked out and started bawling like a baby?” 

“Why would you apologize? Just… did you like it? Not like it? Did he push you too far? You certainly seem… like you liked it. Does he know?” Yuuri asked. 

Yuri considered, blanched. “I think?! I don’t know! — Augh!” 

He beat his fist on the table next to his microwave meal.

“You have to talk to him.”

— 

“I don’t normally press,” Victor said as they were nearing the end of a thus-far silent lunch break, “but it seems like you’ve been distracted this week.”

“That obvious?” 

Victor shrugged. 

“I…” Otabek started to speak, stopped, shook his head, tried again: “I hit him. Hard. He told me to stop and I didn’t.”

Victor slid his fingers through his hair, face remaining pointedly neutral. “Did you negotiate that beforehand?”

“No,” Otabek said. “I… waited. To see if he would use the safe word. He didn’t, but…” Otabek pressed his lips together. “I hit him again. He started crying. Hard.” 

Settling his chin into the palm of his hand, Victor offered a reassuring smile. “Maybe that’s exactly what he needed. To cry. He’s been so calm and focused this week. It can be scary, to hurt someone, to know they trust you to do that, and perhaps you could have paused when he said stop and made sure he was okay with continuing. But you just starting domming him. You’ve hardly had any time at all to get used to it. He’s learning, but so are you. And he seems more than OK.” 

Otabek said nothing, just kept frowning out the window.

“It’s OK to make mistakes,” Victor said.

“No. It’s more than that.” 

Victor hadn’t seen Otabek look quite like this before.

Ashamed.

“I… I liked it,” Otabek murmured. “Hurting him. Seeing him cry.”

“You got aroused?”

“No - not, not like _that_ ,” Otabek said. He shrugged back his shoulders. “I just… _liked_ it.”

Victor waited to see if Otabek was going to elaborate, but when nothing else came out, Victor offered Otabek another smile. “So? That doesn’t make you a bad person, unless you do it without his consent or aren’t risk-aware. Enjoying something is just… uncontrollable. Whether you act on it, and how, is what matters. Besides: Yuri seems to love it when you hurt him.”

“What kind of person would want to hurt another?” Otabek asked, tightening his fist. 

“You don’t want to hurt other people, do you?” Victor asked. “Just your partner. And just when he wants it, yes?”

“Yes, but —“ 

“But that’s all that matters,” Victor said. “Your partner’s trusting you. He’s giving himself to you. That’s erotic. It’s satisfying. It’s emotional and intense. It makes perfect sense to enjoy that.”

Victor laughed softly and Otabek’s eyes flew to him, wondering if Victor was making fun. Victor just waved his hand to the side. 

“It’s rare, but it seems to be exactly what he needed,” Victor said. “Was he upset once he stopped crying? What did he say afterwards?”

“He just told me he loved me.”

“And…?”

“And then we went to sleep.”

Another soft, fond chuckle. 

“Whenever I feel worst, I talk to Yuuri,” Victor said. “Your partner’s the only one who’s going to be able to reassure you that what you did was OK, or tell you how they’d like it to be different in the future. You need to talk to him.”

Otabek’s lips thinned out. His meal was nearly uneaten. 

“Yeah.”


	11. ADKOC - Deleted Chapter ("Communication")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I futzed around with this for a long time after [ADKOC Chapter 21](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666/chapters/24145908), where the quartet finally spends a night all together, and it was never quite right. 
> 
> A bunch of folks asked about what would happen when Otabek and Victor finally got into a more formal dom/sub relationship - and especially what would happen if Otabek treated Victor the same as Yuri. 
> 
> Ultimately this wound up feeling a little too scattered and out of character all around, but in the event you're interested in my brain space - enjoy!
> 
> **Rated E**  
>  **Includes** : Deep-throating, collar talk, consent navigation, dom/sub, aftercare

“What do _you_ want it to mean?” Victor asked, speaking over the still-sleeping, slack-jawed body of his husband. 

Otabek was up already, warming up on the floor beside the bed, running through his stretches. The conversation had started with Yuri lazily looking over at Otabek’s arching anatomy and kicking Victor awake to ask: “When’s my test?”

“After Worlds,” Victor repeated the same thing he’d been saying for the past month.

From there, the conversation swept into Yuri’s desire for his collar. It was Otabek who asked why he was so excited about it.

“I want to be yours! That’s what it means, right?” Yuri had looked over at Victor for clarification.

Victor was trying to go back to sleep, coiled around Yuuri with his face pressed into Yuuri’s spiked-everywhere hair. Yuri, huffing, shook Victor’s shoulder until he opened his eyes again. 

“It can mean a lot of things,” Victor yawned. “It’s different for every couple.” 

That was when he sat up, asked Yuri what he wanted out of it.

“I want it to mean I belong to Otchka,” Yuri said, fists tightening in the comforter. “I want it to mean that I’m his.”

Victor realized, at this point, that Yuri wasn’t going to let him go back to sleep. He unwound himself from his husband, getting up and lifting Yuri off the bed so they could leave Yuuri to rest. 

“Do your stretches,” Victor commanded, setting Yuri down in Otabek’s vicinity. Yuri grumbled, but lifted his arms over his head and wiggled, getting his sleep-tight body to loosen. 

“What does it mean, though, to be his?” Victor asked. “Does it mean that you’ll serve him? Physically? Emotionally? Does it mean that you’ll do chores for him? Does it mean that you’ll let him command you? How often? All the time? Does it mean that you consent to whatever he wants to do with you? That you’ll take his word for law? Does it just mean that you’re taken and don’t want another partner? Is it a warning to others that they shouldn’t approach you? Do you want it to be obvious or hidden? Are the two of you ready to make your relationship public? Have you told your Grandpa? Has Otabek told his family? Are you ready to make your _dynamic_ public?” 

As Victor had continued - effortlessly, without pause or break - both Otabek and Yuri stopped their stretching entirely and just stared at him. 

“These are things you might want to think about,” Victor smiled happily to both of them. 

Otabek glanced over at Yuri: “You haven’t told your Grandpa, have you?”

Yuri blushed, shook his head. 

“I can’t come out yet,” Otabek said. 

“Does it have to look exactly like a big leather collar?” Yuri asked. 

“Of course not,” Victor said. “It should reflect both your needs. It sounds like you want it to be subtle, so you can continue to keep your privacy.”

The pair glanced at each other. 

“Yeah.” 

Victor grabbed his laptop from the kitchen counter and sat it down near the impromptu stretching circle, opening up a frightening number of tabs. As he worked, he continued: “Otabek, what do _you_ want the collar to mean.”

Otabek had either spent more time thinking about it, or at least had a slightly more nuanced perspective on their relationship, than Yuri.

“I want people at the club to see it and know Yuri’s taken. Mine,” he started. He looked over at Yuri, set his hand over the younger skater’s. “I want it to be a reminder of everything Yuri’s done for me. How far he’s pushed himself. All he practiced with his body. And the test.” 

Otabek paused, but it was pregnant with words to come. Yuri’s face had already gone pink in anticipation. They didn’t really talk about their relationship like this. To hear his partner, master, friend say these things… Yuri trembled. 

Finally, Otabek continued: “…I also want it to mean that he doesn’t _have_ to do that. He’s got me. I’m not going anywhere. He’s my boy. My boyfriend. That’s not going to change.” 

He considered what he’d just said, testing the edges, making sure it felt right, and then gave an affirmative nod. 

That was what he wanted. 

The next moment Otabek had a young Russian in his lap, ruining his stretch, hugging his chest and burrowing into his neck. 

“Otchka.” 

Otabek let out a laughing breath of air, sliding one arm around Yuri to steady him. He kissed his cheek. 

“Yurike.” 

“You mean it?”

“I only say what I mean,” Otabek assured. 

“I want to wear it all the time,” Yuri said. “I want to be yours. I want —” 

“I want it, too.” 

Yuuri groaned grumpily from bed: “Quuiiieetttttttt.”

After an initial, apologetic flush, Yuri’s face split into a coy grin. Slipping out of Otabek’s arms with a kiss, he jumped onto the bed and disappeared beneath the covers. A minute later, Yuuri’s groan had become soft moans and the occasional curse. 

“Yuri…” Yuuri panted. 

There was only a shuffle of sheets in return. 

“Yuri!” Yuuri finally sat up in the bed, tearing back the covers so that he could grab his mouthy rival and push him down onto his back. He pulled down Yuri’s underwear and lifted up his legs; Yuuri was wet enough from the blow job, and Yuri practiced enough with unprepared entry, that they slid together, into and inside, without a hitch. 

“Yes!” Yuri gasped as Yuuri opened him. He arched against the bed, elated that he’d worked Yuuri into such a fit. His ankles fell into a loose, locked position around Yuuri’s waist, arms scrubbing Yuuri’s shoulders. The rhythmic warmth on his neck from Yuuri’s open-mouthed breathing had him swooning. The Japanese skater started up that rhythm: that tireless, mind-blowing, waterwheel rhythm of constant flowing motion and friction and everything wonderful.

Yuri wanted to lie there and let Yuuri take him for hours. Yuuri was angling for his spot but not so aggressively he felt like he was going to come. It was the perfect combination of sensation and pleasure and he never wanted it to end.

And, as the moments oozed into each other, one and then the next, Yuuri seemed to share the sentiment. 

Victor and Otabek continued their stretches on the floor. It wasn’t Victor’s normal routine, but he didn’t feel like leaving the other three to shower, and he couldn’t help the flutter of intrigue he felt, getting this insight into Otabek’s more personal habits. The pair listened to their cubs in the bed, occasionally glancing over when the sheets rustled, weight shifting as the Yuris changed position. For the most part, however, they stayed focused on the exercise, and on each other. Otabek’s glance at Victor was the only reason he caught the wince as Victor lunged on his left leg. 

“Alright?” Otabek asked, and Victor flushed, like he’d been caught. His eyes shot to the bed to see if Yuuri had noticed, but the cubs were completely intoxicated with each other, eyes locked on one another, growling their pleasure, whispering their love.

Victor sat, rubbing at the knee, and gave a half nod. “It’s just been acting up lately.” 

“Can I?” Otabek asked, pulling out of his stretch and moving a hand toward’s Victor’s knee. Otabek had put his pants back on when he woke, but Victor only had his underwear. Curious, he gestured consent, and Otabek ran a scientific hand from Victor’s thigh down over his knee to his ankle and back up again. 

“It flares up when you lunge?” Otabek asked. “What about your sit spins?”

Victor blinked in surprise, nodded, “Yes, those too. A week or so now. Don’t, uh, … —“ Victor gestured to Yuuri, frowned. 

Otabek lowered his voice. “Don’t want him to know?”

“He’ll just worry. He needs to stay focused,” Victor said. Then, after a moment’s pause while Otabek massaged beneath Victor’s knee: “How’d you know?”

“I…” Otabek started, and he looked over at Yuri, like he, too, had a secret he’d been keeping from his little kitten, or wasn’t ready to disclose just yet. “… DJing isn’t a career. I’m studying to be a physical therapist. After everything.”

After their bodies were no longer able to carry them to competition.

Victor blinked. “When?”

Otabek shrugged. “Mornings. Evenings. Rest days. Off season. Or did you mean when am I retiring?”

Their voices were low now, and paired with the increasing volume coming from Yuri they were confident their partners wouldn’t overhear. 

“I might have another year. Maybe two,” Otabek said. “Three if I’m _very_ lucky.”

Yuri could still have a decade in front of him to compete, barring injury. Victor swallowed, and his eyes went to the pair in bed, watching in a strange detached way as Yuuri’s hips rolled in that primitive, bestial pattern of sex.

“Lay down,” Otabek said, hand pressing on Victor’s sternum until Victor relaxed and let himself be guided down onto his back. 

Otabek tucked a pillow under Victor’s knees, then lifted Victor’s left foot and set it on his shoulder. He scooted close to Victor and both of his hands came to Victor’s thigh, working the dense musculature. Victor hadn’t felt much of Otabek’s hands - the few brief holds at his waist, an occasional brush, but this was entirely new. He’d always felt the distant, stoic solidity of Otabek’s presence, but to feel that stoniness all around his thigh, to feel the granite grip, to have his muscles pressed through that constriction? It was something different entirely. 

Victor watched for just a moment before the pleasure of it made his eyes close.

He listened to the moans of his husband and the young Russian who would take his place, when he retired, as the country’s star of the ice. They must have added more lube; the suckling sounds of their coupling were louder now, wetter, and Victor could easily imagine the familiar sight of his husband bowed over Yuri, Yuri’s delicate body accepting the pressure and pace. 

Otabek reached his knee. How could hands be so firm and yet so mindful and gentle of his anatomy? The tension and ache washed away under Otabek’s ministrations.

It felt so _good_.

“Harder,” Yuri demanded, breathing harsh. “Harder, please, Yuuri.” A gasp as Yuuri must have pounded into him. “Harder, _Eros_!”

Victor opened his eyes, gazed over at the bed, at the boys upon it, hardly able to see them over the edge. 

Eros. 

Victor’s Eros. 

“Do you want to join them?” Otabek asked. One of his hands slid down Victor’s thigh, stopping at the crease of Victor’s groin. It drew attention to the fact that Victor had hardened from the combined stimulus of the massage and the auditory sex. 

Victor glanced to Otabek, felt that burning energy of his gaze, and Otabek continued: “Or stay here?” As he asked, he curved the hand between Victor’s legs so the back of his knuckles grazed Victor’s erection. 

It felt like someone had plugged him into an electrical outlet. His cock leapt towards the touch, throbbing in his underwear, and Victor gasped, unthinking:

“Touch me,” he managed.

Otabek looked at him until Victor had to glance away, neck arching to evade those eyes that blazed like noon sun. 

“Beg,” Otabek whispered. 

His knuckles brushed again, the lightest feather of a touch, while his other hand still held Victor’s leg, squeezing and kneading his calf. 

Victor’s cheeks colored, head turned so he could hide beneath his hair. He took a breath, then another, then:

“Please touch me.” His voice was the faintest whisper, cheeks darkening by the moment. 

“Victor Nikiforov,” Otabek said. That full name: that reminder of all that Victor had accomplished in his life, that to others he was more than a friend or lover; he was someone they had all looked up to, or been held against for comparison, their entire careers. “I said _beg_.”

He felt the shudder run through Victor’s body, then watched as he curled, twisting at the waist to make his body smaller, even with his leg still held captive. Victor’s mouth opened once, closed, opened again:

“I want to be touched. I want to feel your hand on me,” he whispered, voice still faint. “I want you to - to stroke me. I want to know… I want to know what Yuri feels. Please. Please touch me, Otabek. Please — ohn!” 

Otabek cupped Victor through his underwear, slowly increasing the pressure. 

“Don’t stop,” Otabek commanded. 

“I - I want you to wrap your hand around me,” Victor blushed. “Stroke me. Please.”

Otabek’s hand felt around the curves, could feel the outline of Victor’s dick perfectly through the flimsy cloth. He rubbed the heel of his hand over that rigid organ, watching as Victor - Victor Nikiforov - arched beneath him. 

“Look at you,” Otabek mused. 

Victor’s body curled tighter, a hand coming to hide his face.

“Begging like you need it.” 

Victor’s voice faltered, stuttered - “P-please.”

“Russia’s hero, reduced to this,” Otabek continued, hand sliding up Victor’s length. “Desperate, writhing…“

Victor didn’t respond. Was he spacing out? Like Yuri sometimes did? Otabek thought of what Yuri liked. 

“Like a caller on a street corner,” Otabek went on. “Like a slut. Look at you, Victor Nikiforov, just begging to be—“ 

“ _Stop_.” 

Yuuri stood beside the pair, flushed and hard and glistening, like he’d just ripped himself out of Yuri. He glared at Otabek before taking a steadying breath, kneeling next to Victor, who’d curled fully on his side and hadn’t yet unfurled. 

“Vika,” Yuuri whispered, setting a hand on Victor’s shoulder, pressing his lips under Victor’s ear. 

Victor trembled. 

“Sweet Vika,” Yuuri cooed. “Are you okay?” Victor’s body tightened, and Yuuri quickly continued: “It’s okay. You can stay like this. You don’t need to come back.” He ran his hand over Victor’s side, cherishing. “I’ll help him, OK? Do you still want him?”

Victor didn’t respond right away. Then his hand - the one not shielding his face - caught Yuuri’s forearm and squeezed.

Yuuri turned back to Otabek. The Kazakh was sitting back on his heels, brow furrowed, somewhere between bewilderment and apology. 

“Don’t shame him,” Yuuri said, his voice stern in a way neither Yuri nor Otabek had heard before, but calmer now. His anger had disappeared, replaced by something closer to Victor’s coaching tone. Almost conciliatory. “There’s no shame in being soft, or needing, or wanting. Victor doesn’t let himself get soft with very many people. It means he trusts you, and you don’t want to break that trust.” Yuri was hiding on the bed, peeking over the edge like a kid. 

“I’m sorry,” Otabek frowned.

“It’s OK,” Yuuri reassured. He gazed down at the curled body of his husband, then back at Otabek. “He’s very, very different than Yuri. If you want to dom him, try this…”

Yuuri set his hand between Victor’s legs, where Otabek’s had been before. Victor had softened, was slow to respond to Yuuri’s ministrations, but then Otabek joined him, brushing that sensitive lick of flesh while Yuuri drifted down to tickle Victor’s balls through his underwear.

With a soft mewl, Victor started to inflate under their touch.

“Do you like this, Vika?” Yuuri encouraged, petting Victor’s side. “Want more?”

Yuuri felt another squeeze on his wrist. 

“You’re safe here, Vika,” Yuuri said. “You can enjoy this. You liked begging for Otabek, didn’t you?”

Victor’s face was still hidden by his hand, by his hair, but his legs loosened, making more room for their combined touch. 

“Talk to me, Vika,” Yuuri murmured. 

Another shift: “Touch me.” 

“I will, sweet Vika,” Yuuri purred. He smiled as he spoke, this simultaneously lustful and adoring expression. “You like Otabek, don’t you? Tell me what you like about him.”

“Strong,” Victor murmured. 

“He _is_ strong, isn’t he? Physically. Mentally.”

Yuuri was watching Victor so closely, paying attention to all the nuance of the way he moved. 

“Is that why you like him being in charge of you?”

Another squeeze. 

“Spread your legs, Vika,” Yuuri encouraged, free hand moving to Victor’s thigh, helping guide them apart. Initial tension gave way, and finally Victor opened them, allowing the two hands room. “There you go.” 

Yuuri gazed at Otabek giving a nod towards Victor’s crotch, invitation.

“Victor,” Otabek started. “Vika.” He tested the new name, watching Yuuri to make sure it was okay, and Yuuri nodded again. “Let us see you.” Otabek squeezed his hand between Victor’s leg, squeezed that hard cylinder. “Take these off.” 

It took a moment for Victor to loosen his hold on Yuuri’s wrist and reach to his waist. He shied as he eased it down, off, and cast it aside, and curled up again afterwards, hiding his nudity. 

“Vika,” Otabek repeated. “Let us see you. Show me.”

Yuuri watched Otabek slowly coax Victor to unfurl again, until the silver-haired skater was on his back on the floor, legs a loose, open diamond, and Otabek’s sturdy hand between them, cupping and caressing, eyes intently focused on Victor’s face. Yuuri rose, going to the bed and finding Yuri still watching, fascinated. 

“Yuri. Come,” Yuuri murmured, taking Yuri’s hand and drawing him to the floor. “Over the ottoman.” 

Yuri followed, dumb, stomach against the ottoman, legs spreading behind him, watching Otabek tease Victor with his touches. Yuri hardly reacted when Yuuri entered him again, too entranced, but his spine arched to give Yuuri the best angle. 

“It’s erotic, isn’t it? Seeing your master dom someone else?” Yuuri whispered, rubbing Yuri’s back as he fucked him. The sudden tight clench of Yuri’s body was answer enough.

It didn’t take long for Otabek’s tantalizing caresses to have Victor panting, one arm strewn across his eyes to hide, the other digging tense into the rug. Victor was starting to whimper, begging with his body in all the ways Yuuri knew. 

“You need more, don’t you, Vika?” Otabek sensed. His free hand he brought to Victor’s mouth, pushed a finger against Victor’s parted lips until Victor opened them fully. “Swallow, Vika,” Otabek encouraged as his finger pressed deep, far enough to hit the back of Victor’s throat, that delicate soft palate. Victor swallowed, and Otabek felt the muscles of his throat on the very tip of his finger. 

He’d never felt that before. 

He withdrew his finger, added a second and third, his pinky and thumb on either side of Victor’s mouth as the three went in just as far. The soft pink petals of his lips stretched white, Victor deep-throating the digits. 

Otabek started to thrust.

His fingers wiggled, brushing the back of Victor’s tongue, dragging down the length of it. 

“That’s it, Vika,” Otabek encouraged as he saw a flash of bucking tension in Victor’s throat, a gag suppressed. “Very good.” 

The trance of Victor’s submission was in full force, eyes staying closed even as he let those fingers into him and out again, even as his body tried to revolt at the sensation. He kept his throat loose, accepting, regardless of how Otabek pushed him.

“Otabek,” Yuuri said, giving Yuri’s thigh a fond smack. “Can we give him something else to suck?” 

“He’s ready for it,” Otabek agreed. His fingers were absolutely drenched in saliva, which he guided down Victor’s throat, feeding the wetness back to him, ensuring it covered the whole track. 

“Get up,” Yuuri said, pulling out of Yuri and grabbing his hips. “Straddle his face.” 

Yuri swallowed as he knelt over Victor’s head, Otabek letting his wet fingers scrub up his cub’s stomach as he pulled them out of Victor’s mouth.

“You’re going to suck on Yuri, OK Vika?” Yuuri said. “While I fuck him.” 

Yuuri climbed behind Yuri, straddling Victor’s torso, knees tucked under Victor’s arms. Yuri bent forward, ass exposed, and it was _so easy_ to slide into Victor’s sopping wet mouth.

“Ahn!” Yuri let out a whore’s cry of pleasure.

Yuuri locked eyes with Otabek, who was about to wipe off his fingers on Yuri. Yuuri shook his head, cocked his head back behind him. 

“Take him,” Yuuri whispered.

Otabek’s eyes widened, hesitating. 

“If you want,” Yuuri followed.

Rubbing his two fingers together, Otabek considered the silver-haired body before him, his boyfriend and his lover astride it, legs tucked up. Victor was hard, length rising from an equally silver wispy cloud, which trickled down to _that place_.

Otabek nodded, at last, and Yuuri grinned, capturing Yuri’s hips and sliding into him. 

“You keep sucking, Vika,” Yuuri praised. “I’m going to fuck Yuri into your mouth, OK? I’ll hold your hand and you can double squeeze if you need to.” His fingers laced with Victor’s, who was already squeezing tight in satisfaction, gratitude, need. “I know you’ll like it. You love all the smells and scents of sex, don’t you? You love licking sweat and cum. I’m fucking Yuri right above you.”

“ _Blyad_ , Yuuri,” Yuri cursed.

“And while I’m fucking him, Vika, Otabek is going to fuck you, OK?” 

Victor’s eyes flew open, but all he could see was the pulsing muscles of Yuri’s abdomen. Yuri had braced on hands and knees over Victor, all but laying on him, letting Yuuri’s rhythm push him into Victor’s throat and then out again.

“I want to see how many of my fingers you can take, Vika,” Otabek said.

Yuri cursed again, forearms making a triangle against the floor to brace himself, his head hanging from his shoulders.

“Make sure your legs are open for him, Vika,” Yuuri said, squeezing that hand in reassurance. “You want to let him inside, don’t you? Imagine how strong he’ll feel inside you.” 

A noise tried to escape Victor’s throat, got caught on the head of Yuri’s cock and shoved back down again.

Otabek wasn’t sure who to be more in awe of: Victor, literally belly up on the floor, being topped by the other skaters, or Yuuri, whose seamless switch into domming Victor with filthy talk and unbreakable confidence was such a ridiculous departure from the normally anxious individual Otabek was used to.

Victor’s legs widened, revealing his sweet spot, and Otabek brought those fingers down.

The eagerness of Victor’s body was reminisce of Yuri’s: slightly less sloppy, slightly less desperate, but it was impossible to call any sort of arching asshole ‘refined’ or ‘mature’. His fingers went in easier, too, both of them sliding inside without the jitters of suppressed, excited clenches that Yuri had. 

Victor waited until Otabek’s fingers were hilted for that. 

“How does it feel, Vika?” Yuuri asked, panting. “Do you like his fingers in you?” 

_Squeeze._

“They’re so good,” Yuri choked out, like he wanted to be a part of it, like he was shuddering at the memory of it. “They’re so hard. Fuck - they —“ 

Yuri just panted. He looked under him to find Victor, lost in his pleasure and suckling a champion.

“Do you know what his spot feels like?” Yuuri asked Otabek. “Can you find it? We can make him come… How are you feeling, Vika? Do you feel good?”

_Squeeze._

It was very, very weird for Otabek to be exploring another person’s innards, but he felt too far gone to back out now. The slick, smoothly corrugated walls tugged on his fingers, and he pedaled them, curved them, until he found the firmer bulge. 

Everyone else knew, too, when he found it. Victor’s body arched beneath them, the moan in his chest audible even despite the human gag in Victor’s mouth.

“There it is, Vika,” Yuuri panted, smiling. He wrapped his arm around Yuri’s waist, mindful of Victor’s face, and thrust a little harder into Yuri, from Yuri down Victor’s throat. “We’ll get you to come soon, OK Vika? Just let go when you feel it.”

No permission. No withholding. 

Victor was so different than Yuri, Otabek realized, in ways he’d never imagined. He thrust his fingers against that firmness, watched Victor’s cock pulse and ache. 

“So close, Vika,” Yuuri gasped. 

“Yuuri I —“ Yuri started. “Otchka, please?” 

“Go,” Otabek allowed. 

Yuri froze down Victor’s throat, spilling deep into Victor’s belly, only pulling back when he felt Victor’s throat clench. The young skater braced himself so Yuuri could continue, softening in Victor’s mouth, getting a tender tongue bath on his sensitive, spent skin. He could tell from Yuuri’s decaying rhythm that the Japanese skater was just as close.

“Come on, Vika,” Yuuri panted. 

Otabek reached forward with his free hand, clasping Victor’s arching flesh. 

“Come.”

It only took one stroke.

Victor’s cum painted Yuri’s lower back, licked at his ass, and set the Japanese skater off. Victor’s final spurts left creamy designs on his belly. Yuri fell to the side, while Yuuri scooted down, running his hands through Victor’s hair. 

“Vika, Vika,” Yuuri whispered. 

Otabek watched for a split second, then rose and disappeared to the kitchen.

“Vika, do you feel good?” 

_Squeeze._

Yuuri covered Victor’s face in little kisses. 

It was Yuri who returned with tissues, carefully wiping up the mess on Victor, then, with a blush, Yuuri. 

It was Otabek who returned with juice, two tall glasses, one of which he passed to Yuri, the other he held as Yuuri helped Victor sit up. 

“Victor,” Otabek murmured. “Drink.”

And Victor’s eyes fluttered open, gazed hazy at Otabek, and he drank.


	12. ADKOC - Deleted Scene ("Not Quite a Key")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene that doesn't quite fit in the [ADKOC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) timeline but possibly happened around-abouts Yuri's collaring, after Otabek moves in with Victor and Yuuri.
> 
> Rating: **E** for the discussion, not the activity.

“You know, with three professional athletes under one roof, there’s so much testosterone and physical energy that needs an outlet,” Victor mused. 

Yuuri saw where this was going and lifted an educational finger. “Mm! We need to release the pressure, otherwise it can affect our performance.” 

Victor nodded sagely. “It seems like what we really need is a fuck toy.” Obvious conclusion. “Someone to keep around the house that we can bend over whenever we need to.”

“A hole, really,” Yuuri considered, going happily along with his husband. “But a warm one.” 

“One that can suck and squeeze.” Victor was getting more excited. He glanced to Otabek, looking right over Yuri’s head. “What do you think, Otabek? There are so few fuck toys around anymore, I don’t know if we could find one.”

“Hmm… I might have a boy we could hire,” Otabek thought.

“He’d have to live with us, of course,” Victor said. 

“Of course!” Yuuri agreed, and somehow resisted looking at Yuri’s face to see his reaction.

“And be ready to serve at all hours,” Victor continued.

“Hmm,” Otabek rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, my boy might work for that. He’s headstrong but obedient. Great ass. Very trainable. Takes punishment well.”

“We’d need to go rough on him, though,” Victor pointed out. “Sometimes after a long day of training there’s just too much built up and we can’t handle how it comes out.” He shrugged, like he was hopeless in the face of his own arousal.

“You can be hard on him. Fuck him up a bit,” Otabek said, waving a hand. “He’s very flexible.”

They were all doing such a good job of ignoring Yuri in the center of their circle. 

“And what about kinks? Sometimes Yuuri likes to shove things in places they don’t belong,” Victor said. “Skate guards, beer bottles…”

“ _Tentacles_ ,” Yuuri sent a challenging look at his husband. 

Victor almost broke character, almost laughed, but he managed to keep it together and gave a straight-faced nod. “And you have your own tastes, don’t you, Otabek? He’ll have to be willing to get smacked around a bit. Maybe even have his come controlled.”

“Yes,” Otabek said. “That’s very important. He _is_ my boy. But I think he’d make a good fuck toy for the house.”

“It does sound promising,” Yuuri hummed. They could all sense they were coming to the climax of their little play.

“Why don’t you bring him by for an interview?” Victor suggested. “We can see if he suits us.”

“Let me see if he has time,” Otabek said. “Yu—“ 

They all finally looked down at Yuri and stopped short, because there was their beautiful tiger: a tear-streaked, mucus-y mess with a bright red erection. 

He wiped at his eyes and snuffed, rubbing the gushing tears. “You— you really want me to move in with you?” he whimpered.

Three hearts broke simultaneously, and Yuri had six different arms surrounding him. 

“Kitten!”

“Of course!” 

“Yes, Yurike.”

They petted and stroked, hugged and cradled.

“Do _you_ want to move in with us, love?” Yuuri murmured. 

Yuri nodded his head, smearing snot over Otabek’s chest. 

“Yeah,” he sobbed.


	13. ADKOC - Interlude ("Russian Princes")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't get enough of the sudden care between these two, of Russia's past and Russia's future suddenly faced with just how much they mean to each other. I went full sap.
> 
> This happens immediately after [Chapter 27](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666/chapters/25299711) ("A Season for Everything") of ADKOC and contains **mad spoils** if you haven't already read that chapter. Here's a brief excerpt:

> “I can’t believe you’re leaving…” 
> 
> Victor nuzzled Yuri’s cheek, sighing against his hair. “You always wanted time for the spotlight to be yours, and yours alone. Now’s your time, Yuri. I’m the past. You’re the future.” 
> 
> Yuri turned to Victor, eyes still wet, and climbed into his lap, hugging him so tightly. Victor blinked in surprise, glanced to Yuuri and Otabek. They both nodded encouragement, and Victor surrounded the tiger in his arms. 
> 
> “It’s okay,” Victor whispered. 
> 
> Yuri’s lips found Victor’s, kissing slow, and Victor’s eyes fluttered shut. 
> 
> “Victor,” Yuri whispered into his mouth. 
> 
> “I’m here.” Victor promised. “I’ll always be here.” 
> 
> “I can love you too?” 
> 
> “ _Kotënok_ … always.”

* * *

Yuri’s heart pounded against his ribs, adding to that unbearable pressure inflating down onto his stomach, up into his throat.

How many times had they had sex together? But it was never — Yuri had never — 

He brushed Victor’s hair back so he could look into both his eyes, scanning between those cyan things he’d seen printed on posters and magazines and banners his entire life. He couldn’t remember a time when there wasn’t Victor Nikiforov. Victor Nikiforov was Russia’s hero, Russia’s champion. 

He’d always been there, and maybe Yuri just assumed he always would be. Like they had forever. Like how heroes are immortal.

He couldn’t even imagine a world without Victor Nikiforov. For all he’d antagonized Victor, for all he’d mocked him, for all he’d grouched at Victor’s teaching…

Yuri traced Victor’s eyebrow with the tenderest touch.

Victor Nikiforov was Yuri’s champion, too.

Yuri’s fingers trembled as he let Victor’s hair fall back over his eye, as he kissed Victor again, lips pressed firm and desperate until they started to ache like his heart.

“Victor,” Yuri whimpered. 

“Shh,” Victor soothed. “Shh, Yuri. Yuri.” 

Yuri had been almost dressed, but now he tugged at his belt, like panicking.

Victor was Yuri’s first. Victor had taught Yuri everything. And Yuri had been an ungrateful asshole to this man who had offered so much of himself without ever, _ever_ asking something in return. Yuri cried out in frustration at himself, at this damned belt, at how horribly full his chest felt, like he was going to throw up or lose himself to this grief.

“Victor!” he keened, and Victor was there, stilling the hand at his belt, cupping the back of his neck and kissing him. 

Just kissing him. 

“Yuri,” Victor murmured again, pulling back to look at the terrified tiger. Sweet thing had gone through so much this year, and still managed to make the podium at Worlds, to take gold at Nationals. 

Yuri sniffled, and Victor took the time to kiss the glittering trails of his tears. Then Yuri burrowed into Victor’s arms, feeling the thump of Victor’s heart, so much steadier than Yuri’s hummingbird flutter.

“I’m sorry,” Yuri whispered against Victor’s neck, words falling like rain along his skin. _Sorry I didn’t listen_ , _sorry I never said thank you_ , _sorry I was so awful_.

Victor cradled Yuri’s head, thumb resting against the soft spot of his skull.

Yuri felt that tightness cinch inside, as if someone had turned an invisible pin. “Please…” but he couldn’t quite finish.

_Don’t go_.

“My time is over,” Victor said. Yuri looked at him again, kissed the edge of his mouth, and then his hand went back to his belt, gentler now. 

“Please,” Yuri whispered, but with a different timbre. 

Victor slid his fingers between Yuri’s, resting atop the open buckle. Yuri squeezed.

“… Let me love you?”

For a brief moment Victor considered the celebration, the other skaters, the food and the dancing. 

And then he slid his hand from Yuri’s, deftly undoing the belt, buttons, zip…

Yuri drew him out, cradling his softness. He stared at the skin like it was brand new, just holding it in his palm, thumb pinching the foreskin as it began to twitch. 

“You taught me everything…” Yuri murmured. His hand curled around Victor and stroked once, the way he would touch himself.

“You took every step yourself.”

Victor tugged on Yuri’s suspenders, then unlatched them and untucked Yuri’s shirt. He slid his hands into Yuri’s pants, cupping his cheeks, and then guided the pants down and off Yuri’s bottom along with that silly leopard-print scrap. The curve of a plug was tucked into the tiger’s body, which Victor tenderly withdrew. 

Yuri stared into his eyes as he sank down.

When Yuri was seated he lingered, nestled most intimately in Victor’s lap. His limbs rested around Victor in a comfortable hug, still and quiet, though internally he pulsed and pulled on Victor’s flesh.

This was Victor Nikiforov. 

Charming, perfect, world-renowned, record-breaking Victor Nikiforov. His choreographer and his rink-mate. The one everyone knew and adored and admired.

“Victor,” Yuri repeated.

Because this was also Victor. His mentor and teacher, his off-the-ice coach. Silly, forgetful, sexy, infuriating…

Yuri shook his head, fingers sinking into and pulling on Victor’s hair. 

“Vitya,” he whispered.

Because this man in front of him, and inside of him, was so many things to Yuri, and he’d been an idiot to never realize it.

“Yuratchka.”


	14. ADKOC - Interlude ("Princes' Honeymoon")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly can't enough of these two. A followup to the previous chapter - from utter sap to complete raunch.
> 
> Our Russian boys <3
> 
> Rated **Very E**.

Once Yuri realized just how important Victor was to him, the pair spent the rest of the time before their flight fucking like new lovers. They left the celebration early at some invisible shared signal, and Otabek and Yuuri walked in on them rutting viciously an hour later - Yuri with one leg thrown over a chair back, standing on the tips of his toes, and Victor holding his hips like a dog. 

“Wow,” Yuuri laughed, breathless and more than a little bit tipsy as he watched them. Otabek was holding most of Yuuri’s weight up, and ushered Yuuri over to the bed, making sure to keep the spectacle in view. 

It was hard to say if Yuri’s increased volume was acknowledging their arrival or simply due to Victor’s thrusts picking up the pace. 

“Drink,” Otabek said, bringing Yuuri a water, but Yuuri was just slack-jawed, staring. 

“Otshu- Otshubekuu,” Yuuri gestured towards the fucking. “ _Look_.”

“They’re very beautiful,” Otabek said. “Drink.” 

He pushed the lip of the glass towards Yuuri’s mouth. 

“Me?” Yuuri mewled.

“Mm.”

Yuuri blinked at the glass, managed to swallow several times, and then sat back again. “I want to - I want — am I hard?” 

Otabek snorted, glanced at Yuuri’s pants. “I don’t think you can get hard right now.” 

“F— false,” Yuuri said, holding up a finger. He shoved his hand between his legs, groping himself, until he finally frowned. “Mmm. True.”

Otabek sat down next to Yuuri, only to find a minute later that he had a muss-haired Japanese drunk in his lap. 

“They’re _so pretty_ ,” Yuuri whimpered. “I love them.”

It was funny, from Otabek’s perspective: Yuuri’s words punctuated by Yuri’s sharp shouts with every feral thrust of Victor’s hips. Victor was holding up one of Yuri’s legs now, canting it an angle that would be impossible for all but a fraction of a fraction of the population. 

“I’m gonna —“ Yuuri paused to gesture his hands towards the pair. “Fuck ‘im like that.”

Otabek raised his brow. “Which one.”

Yuuri frowned in thought, tapping a finger to his chin in consideration, and then beamed: “Both.”

“Ah.”

Otabek managed to get a few glasses of water into Yuuri before pouring him under the covers. When they fell asleep, Yuri and Victor were still fucking, still sucking face, and when Yuuri woke up blearily for an ibuprofen in the middle of the night the pair were making the other bed squeak, Victor hammering away at Yuri’s ass, wrists pinned up above the tiger’s head. Yuri was mewling something — or maybe it was just Victor’s name, again and again and again. 

Yuuri rolled over, nuzzling into Otabek’s arms, and didn’t realize until he’d been welcomed against the Kazakh’s chest that he probably should have asked first. He blushed, pillowing his cheek on Otabek’s shoulder, and that was that.

When he woke up for real, sun a muted glow behind the heavy curtains, Otabek was gone, and Victor and Yuri were both messes in the other bed. Their hair was wild and askew, their bodies smeared with lubricant and caked sweat and splotchy patches of cum. Yuuri shook his head, as much as the lingering throb would allow him.

He snuck away to shower, and when he came back, he saw the covers of their bed moving in familiar undulations. 

“Again!?” Yuuri balked.

Victor pulled the covers back, revealing a dazed Yuri and Victor’s normally cheerful, charming face. 

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Victor beamed. 

“Victor!”

“Do you want to try him? He’s so soft,” Victor said. “He’s a bit sloppy. I left a lot in him.”

Yuuri’s mouth opened and closed like a koi.

“Katsudon,” Yuri managed, struggling underneath Victor. He’d been flat on his stomach but for Yuuri he shuffled to his hands and knees. Victor moved with him, angling his body to make sure his cock never left the tiger’s beautiful backside. “Come in me.”

Yuri’s head tilted back in pleasure as Victor grabbed his hair, tugging it like a leash, and held his spine taut as he slammed forward at full force.

“Ahn!” Yuri groaned, followed by several smaller gasps as Victor hastily thrust. 

“Come on, Yuuri,” Victor beamed, though his words were breathier now.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t hard.

Yuuri pushed down his briefs and scooted beside Victor, waiting for his husband to pull out before he took Victor’s place. 

“Oh - V-Victor!” Yuuri squeaked as he slid inside Yuri. Sloppy didn’t even begin to cover it. The tiger’s ass was filled with cum, which was foaming, stirred to a froth by Victor’s fucking.

“Do you like it?” Victor cooed, bending over Yuuri. 

In retrospect, Yuuri should have known what was coming, but it was still a surprise to feel Victor push between his cheeks, the lips of his dick making out with Yuuri’s asshole. He used that frothy cum mixture, fresh from Yuri’s ass, as lube to enter Yuuri’s.

Yuri glanced over his shoulder, watching the two of them and licking his lips like a cat after cream. 

“Yeah,” Yuri moaned, breathy, like a whore. “Mmm… yes.” He pushed back onto Yuuri’s cock. “Fuck me.”

Yuuri put his arms around Yuri’s waist, because he liked how that had looked last night, when Victor did it. He kept his thrusts shallow so he wouldn’t pull off of Victor, but Victor’s thrusts amplified the motion, made everything harder, deeper. Yuuri laid his ear against Yuri’s back, heard the continued “yes” and “ah”s in Yuri’s lungs as they were vocalized. 

How there was any friction at all left in Yuri’s ass after this was anyone’s guess, and yet that soft warm frothy mess felt _so good_ around Yuuri’s cock.

They were all of them a multi-backed beast when Otabek returned, and this time he actually did snort at the sight. 

“Boys.” 

They all looked over at him, sex-drunk and smiling. Otabek came alongside the bed, touching Victor’s back, and then kissed the Russian retiree. 

“Otabekenka,” Victor cooed. 

Otabek pet his silver hair and then moved to Yuuri, capturing a handful of black strands to keep him still while they kissed. 

“Ota,” Yuuri smiled when the kiss ended, his face a full blush, warm and rosy. 

Yuri knew he was next, arched up for Otabek’s lips, but Otabek paused a fraction above them, smirking. 

“Otchka!” Yuri mewled as his body started rocking from the other pair.

Otabek remained cool and calm as ever, the perfect stoic figure while Yuri had his brains fucked out. And Yuri couldn’t resist. His pout disappeared within moments as Yuuri slammed into him, and he gave his blissed out expression to Otabek, staring at his master as he was taken. 

“Otchka,” he moaned. “Yes!” 

“So loud today, Yurike,” Otabek mused, thumb tracing Yuri’s lower lip. 

“Otchka,” Yuri repeated. He was panting, mouth dry, completely in love with what was happening to his body and the men that were making it happen. Otabek sat beside Yuri, then reached under his boy’s hips like milking a cow. He grabbed Yuri’s bouncing cock and squeezed.

“Ahn! Yes!” Yuri gaped and arched, still so close to Otabek’s lips and yet so terribly far away. 

“Are you my good boy?” Otabek whispered into Yuri’s ear, feeling Yuri’s cock shudder in response. 

“Yes!” Yuri moaned.

“Should I let you come?” Otabek’s voice was such a secret, scandalous in tone alone. Every atom of Yuri’s existence vibrated to its frequency. 

“Yes!” 

“Are you close?”

“Yes!”

Otabek stroked him. 

“Oh — Oh — _please_!” Yuri begged. Otabek didn’t need a hand on Yuri’s balls to know how close he was.

“I’m going to hurt you first,” Otabek whispered. “Then you can come.” Yuri’s eyes flew open wide, just as Otabek dug his nail into the slit of Yuri’s cock head. 

Yuri _screamed_. 

Had Yuuri and Victor not been so turned on, they would have been concerned, but Yuuri felt the clench of Yuri’s entire body and immediately came, and Victor followed not long after, watching both Yuris in the throes of their orgasms. 

It wasn’t until their afterglow had subsided that Yuuri asked what happened. Yuri blushed, cradling his soft cock in his hands as he went to the bathroom to clean up.

“I hurt him,” Otabek shrugged. “He came to it.” 

When Yuri returned he sat in Victor’s lap, snuggling into his mentor, though his feet stretched across Otabek’s lap. The Russians were near inseparable, even going so far as to swap seats to sit next to each other on the plane back home. 

When they arrived in St. Petersburg they all offered the tiger farewell kisses. Lilia was there to fetch him. 

“Get some rest, Tiger,” Victor beamed. “You’re going to need it.”


	15. ADKOC - Bonus Scene ("Leo's Bae")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More tiny happy cheerful things. I've been recovering from ADKOC by doing little shorts while the longer stories for the future percolate. Thank you so much all for your continued support and lovely notes <3 <3 <3
> 
> This takes place the night of the gang bang, after folks have parted ways and returned to their own rooms. I originally wanted to do a lot more with the aftercare for everyone after such a wild night, but wound up cutting it to keep the focus on our OT4.

“Oh my god, bae,” Leo groaned, laughing. “It was —“ His cheeks ballooned with air and then he let it out in a huff of disbelief. “I can’t —“ 

The grainy voice on the other end started giggling too. “You look wrecked.”

“Hah! You should see how _Yuri_ looks,” Leo grinned. He was lying on his back, one arm holding his phone up above his head, the other absently rubbing his bare chest like he could still feel the ghost of Yuri’s body on him. “Everyone was so _gorgeous_.”

“Victor too?” Such a tease.

“Ugh! VICTOR,” Leo groaned again, biting his lip. “I got to watch him with _both_ Yuris. I don’t know what was sexier. Did you know he totally bottoms for Yuuri?” 

“Leo, babe, DUH, have you even _seen_ those two before? Victor practically licks his feet in the kiss and cry.”

Leo blushed. “I just thought~” 

“Yeah yeah, he’s ~Victor Nikiforov~!”

“BAE!”

More laughter. “SO tell me what you did?! Did you LOVE it? Did he have a big cock? Show me.”

“I don’t know! It was like- “ Leo made a vague waving gesture with his hand “- like _beautiful_ you know, — as long as mine but maybe thicker? But not like _crazy_.” 

“Oooooh. Did you get to do anything with him?” 

Leo blushed, turned his face to the side and grinned. 

“OH MY GOD LEO DE LA IGLESIAS DID YOU GET FUCKED BY VICTOR NIKIFOROV.”

“NO!” Leo laughed. “No, nothing like that.” 

“Suck him?”

Leo shook his head.

“Kiss him?” 

Leo flushed bright red. “Yeah.”

“OH MY GOD REALLY?!” 

“I asked him and Yuuri, afterwards, as everyone was saying goodbye, and he… they said yes.” 

There was _so. much. shrieking._ on the other end of the line. The video quality was already shit, but now his partner was just a blur of flailing on the other side.

“TELL ME EVERYTHING!!”

Leo was in a daze again just thinking about it. His tongue traced his lower lip, remembering the feel of Victor’s mouth against his, the slow way he deepened the kiss and introduced his tongue into Leo’s mouth. How tenderly he’d caressed Leo’s tongue and the heat of his breath on Leo’s cheek. 

He tried to articulate it, stumbling over his words, blushing, covering his face with his hand in embarrassment. 

“That is _so hot_. I CAN’T BELIEVE MY BOYFRIEND KISSED VICTOR NIKIFOROV!” and another eruption of laughter. 

Leo turned to his side, smile softening as he gazed at his bae. “He said I should make sure you’re OK with everything, and we could call him, if we needed, if things felt shaky.” 

“You know I just want you back here so you can _show me_ exactly what you did to Yuri, right?” 

Leo’s lips quirked up. “Yeah.”

“So… do _you_ feel shaky?” 

That question made Leo furrow his brow for a moment. “I thought I would, but… it was so _good_? Seeing them all together? Seeing them take care of each other? Like, the look in Otabek’s eyes - he did this thing where he drew a mark on Yuri’s ass every time someone came in him —“

“ _Hot_.”

“And every time after he’d look at Yuri like… like he was just so proud of him? And looking out for him, too? Like, just making sure he was OK?” Leo shrugged shyly, staring at the pixellated render of his partner’s face. “… It made me want to take care of you. …. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, actually.”

“Leo…” 

He smiled at his phone, opened his mouth, and —

“LEO-KUN!” Minami leapt out of the steamy bathroom and onto the bed, bouncing Leo and his phone. 

“Is that Minami?”

“HI!” 

“How can you possibly have so much energy still?” Leo half-laughed, half-groaned. He turned back to his phone: “Minami came like five times.”

“SIX!” 

“How is that even possible?” the phone tinned. 

Minami laid down next to Leo so he was in the frame: “It was so exciting! Leo did great too! Yuri really liked being spanked!”

“You SPANKED him?!” 

Leo flushed. “He gave me a lap dance and then left me hanging! I was really horny, and Seung Gil didn’t want to do it again, and —“

“Again!? OK. Stop. Start from the BEGINNING; I want to know all about it. Tell me EVERYTHING.”

Leo and Minami looked at each other, both grinning, and the memories began.


	16. Grit - Otayuri Mafia AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently when it's 5am and you can't sleep, this sort of thing trickles out. Decided to bring this one over [from tumblr](https://nomanono.tumblr.com/post/165715444623/grit-the-other-girls-say-dont-ask-cause-you-dont).
> 
> Mature.

The other girls say don’t ask cause you don’t wanna know. When daddies walk in with that kind of look and those kinds of scars you know all you need. 

The kitten’s sitting in the alleyway, scrap of panties not even bothering to hold her together. Her thighs are stuck to the gritty asphalt and smoggy grime of the city, and she’s shaking too bad to light her cigarette. 

Bek knows these kinds of kittens. He’s heard it all before. They’ve got doe eyes big as their dreams - you have to dream, to get through that life. It’s always the same, all of them just waiting, expecting their lives to change instead of the other way around. I came to be a movie star, they say, like kitten, you and all the rest.

This one’s eyes don’t look like a doe. She’s beaten up and still dripping when Bek lifts her off the ground. Most kittens would crumple on his chest and ask what if he wants a suck or a fuck but this one pushes him away, muttering about off the clock. When Bek lets her go she slumps on the wall instead, tugging her scrap jacket tighter around her shoulders.

He sees her in the back room on his way to the don, and she looks at him with those eyes like knives while some fat producer holds her hair and fucks her from her behind, where he can’t see her face. 

You want to try her? The don catches him looking. Go on, on the house.

Hey daddy, she says, but he doesn’t take his dick out while he’s working. He holds her chin and asks if she came here to be a star. He never knew eyes could go so cold.

She tells him she was born here to die here. 

They’re all meant to die here, aren’t they? 

He’s still got blood under his fingernails the next time he sees her. She’s picking up a mostly empty spray can in the alley behind the club and spritzing purple into her hair. 

Hey what’s your name, but she flips him off and slinks back into the club.

Who’s that daddy, she asks, when the man she’s dripping off has given her one too many. The other kittens all shake their heads, like don’t mess with fire, like they’d all been turned down too by that daddy - that daddy who doesn’t play. 

She’s drunk and it’s 4am in the most dangerous part of town. Her part of town. They always say don’t walk alone but what could be worse than what’s already done? She follows him eight blocks past crack-addled ghosts and tattooed brothers too proud of their bulges, packing or packages she ignores them the same. 

Hey daddy she says when he’s turning the key. What’s your name.

Inside, roaches scuttle out of the light and it feels like every home she’s ever known, but she tells him daddies normally have nicer places. He cleans his gun like some girls polish their fancy gifts. She’s never been a fan of dependence. 

When he offers her water she tells him to go fuck himself. 

Momma probably put vodka in your bottle. 

Daddy, show me your cock. Because she doesn’t talk about when she was a kid, but it’s true. 

He tells her they’re both off the clock. 

She’s got a black eye when he sees her four days later. You don’t stay out without don getting paid, and there’s nothing a daddy can do against the don. He watches her get fucked in the back room and she stares at him the whole time.

Bek never figured out her dream. 

Loyalty is for daddies with the luxury of friends or families. Bek writes the don’s name on a bullet but never gets a chance to fire it.

Where’s that one daddy? She asks, and no one knows. Plenty of people have died before. It’s probably her fault, for loving him. 

She sits in the alleyway, city grime stuck to her thighs, and tries to forget him.

Hey kitten, the voice from the black car calls. 

When she climbs in his eye’s patched and his arm is in a sling but he still looks better than any daddy she’s ever seen. 

New dream, he says, and the car drives out of the bad streets, onto the highway, heading who knows, but with him. We don’t die here.


	17. Otayuri AU Zine - "The Tenor of Tango"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of two pieces I did as a pinch hitter for the Otayuri AU Zine. I've been studying ballroom dance for over two years now, so it was fun to integrate that into the story! 
> 
> This was done to go with [Asce](https://twitter.com/lovtitania)'s beautiful Otayuri art.

Tango is about two things: love and hate.

For Yuri Plisetsky, hate came first. Otabek Altin was Yuri’s longstanding rival, surpassing him in the European division year after year, stealing the men’s title at the World Championship. Whatever trophies Yuri accrued were only due to Otabek’s absence, or even more infuriatingly: his disinterest.

Yuri tried changing partners, but no matter who he danced with, he could never quite match Otabek’s conviction. His presence. Otabek’s partners sparkled like diamonds and blossomed like exotic jungle orchids, layers of frill and silk flashing out with every swivel. Otabek didn’t thank anyone when he won, didn’t speak, just led his partners on and off the stage and bowed graciously as they accepted the trophy.

Yuri hated his skill, his composure, his effortless lead, and perhaps what Yuri hated most was his humility.

At the end of the World Championship, during the celebratory banquet, the dance floor was open to any and all. Most contestants stayed off the floor or danced only with their partners, but Otabek Altin accepted anyone who asked. No matter how young or old, regardless of skill, he would offer them his hand and lead them onto the dance floor.

Perhaps it was watching him foxtrot with a young girl in a strawberry dress that finally did Yuri in.

“What are you doing in the beginner class?” Lilia asked as Yuri walked in amidst her teaching.

“Learning, obviously,” he hissed.

Love in tango was both subtext and bright as day. Yuri practiced the slinky staccato moves, the sharp twists, the elegant roll of his neck from closed position to promenade. In tango, the woman arched her back, holding herself aloft and apart from her partner, never offering him her eyes. It looked like hate, and yet the love lingered beneath the surface, apparent in the way they couldn’t dance without each other, in the way they always came back, like an inescapable craving.

“What are you practicing?” Yuri’s partner, Mila, asked him the week before the World Championship.

“Nothing.”

Otabek Altin won, again, with his sixth partner in so many years. He could never quite find the right fit, or so everyone assumed. Mila took the silver trophy, and Yuri led her off stage. She changed into more comfortable shoes, suggested he do the same, but Yuri’s performance wasn’t finished.

He waited for the banquet, and then he waited for a tango.

He was the second best dancer in the world, dressed in his finest tuxedo, and his heart still stuttered as he stepped up to Otabek Altin.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked.

Otabek Altin had never turned down a dance partner, but Yuri still felt a stone sink in his stomach that moment between asking and Otabek understanding, blinking, accepting. Relief flooded Yuri’s veins as Otabek held out his hand.

It was strange, sliding his right hand into the cup of Otabek’s left. Yuri was so used to having the lead.

He paid attention to the tension in Otabek’s arm and sent it back. Dance was a conversation of energies, push and pull, a balance of information spoken in silence, to music.

The dance floor opened around them, the crowd hushing as Otabek extended his arm and Yuri stepped into frame. They slunk down together, Otabek’s thigh sliding between Yuri’s legs, and Yuri’s between his.

The more contact, the easier their bodies could speak to one another.

Yuri canted his head away, gazing over Otabek’s shoulder, utilizing everything he’d learned about proper posture for a follow. He wondered if Otabek would go easy on him, test him with simple moves. No one had ever seen Yuri Plisetsky like this, after all.

He shouldn’t have doubted.

Otabek gave Yuri three beats of prowling walk before they spun. Yuri felt light with the exhilaration of someone drawing him in, pivoting them both around, upright only because they had each other’s weight to balance. The moment they came out of the spin Otabek snapped them into promenade; Yuri felt it like a whip down his spine.

When it was over, Mila told him everyone stopped dancing to watch them. She told him how silent it was, hanging jaws of disbelief and bated breath at their beauty. Then she gave Yuri a knowing look, and told him no one had ever seen Otabek Altin smile, not in his life, until that night.

The love came slower after that. Over the next year, Otabek and Yuri trained together, Yuri learning to understand his silence and speak back to him in sultry tango steps. He always had to look away, as if he hated him, and yet night after night, month after month, they came back to each other to dance.

Tango is about two things: love and hate. The best dance balances both.


	18. Otayuri AU Zine - "Hey Hero"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second piece I did as a pinch hitter for the Otayuri AU Zine. I've always been a fan of Spicy's art so getting to write for it made my day!
> 
> This was done to go with [superspicy96](https://twitter.com/superspicy96)'s beautiful Otayuri merman art.

The sun beat down, the ocean lapped the shore, and Otabek Altin ran at breakneck speed through rock-mottled tide pools. His shoes compressed the sand, creating brief, dry ellipses for a split second after impact. Despite working sails and beating forge hammers most of his days, the run still had him panting.

There wasn’t enough time.

From his cliffside town, looking over the rickety wooden rail, Otabek had seen a crescent of citrus emerald on the seashore, nestled amongst the normal pallor of low-tide sand and soggy dark stones. At first he swore it was just a trick of the light, but as the shape reconciled into a reef-bright body his feet flew into motion. He’d been running ever since.

His chest ached with the urgency and wonder of generations-old tales suddenly sprung to life. It could only be a mermaid: that jeweled green glimmer, the serpentine curl and spun gold hair. Those legends should have sworn him away from the beguiling beast, but Otabek’s path led straight towards it.

In stories, mermaids patrolled distant seas, guarding hidden lagoons and treasure troves, holding court in the halls of sunken ships. Otabek’s humble bay and scraggly beach was no place for such a noble creature, and it had laid so motionless and still.

How long could a mermaid survive, he wondered, beached upon the shore? How much time did he have to save it? Was it even alive at all?

When Otabek finally came upon it, he ground to a halt, waiting to see the faint rise of its breath. The mermaid was chest-down on the sand, head tilted to the side, eyes closed. It seemed still for ages until finally Otabek caught the slow shift of an inhale. 

He he had to get it to water. 

Otabek braced a foot on either side and grabbed the creature’s waist, where pale human skin blended into shining scales.

“What the—!?”

Otabek dropped the mermaid as it twisted in his arms, swirling to its back and propping itself up in alarm. A merman, not a mermaid, Otabek realized. His voice didn’t sound anything like the stories claimed, either. Instead of a bewitching, sonorous summons it was more like the irritated hiss of a street cat.

“What are you _doing_?” the merman asked, looking up at Otabek in confusion and no small amount of accusation.

“I — I came to rescue you,” Otabek said. “I can carry you back to the water.”

The two stared at one another while a gull laughed at their predicament.

“ _You_ ,” the merman said, tone turning incredulous, “came to rescue _me_.” 

The backs of Otabek’s ears grew warm under those skeptical eyes, bright like his scales. Before he could think of a response, the merman smirked, smile as sharp as a knife.

“Oh, what’s a poor merman like me to do, stranded on the beach.”

His tail smacked Otabek’s legs out from underneath him. Otabek landed with a _whumpf_ on the sand and sat up just in time to see the merman move.

“Helpless me, at the mercy of the sun,” the merman feigned a hand on his brow. “Completely incapable of moving.” He rolled over towards the beach. “At all.” He pulled himself to the water with an effortless tug of his arms. “In any way.” Just to rub it in, he scooted across the last length of surf with his tail. All told, it took him about five seconds to be safely ensconced in the water once again.

“Thank goodness you were here,” the merman teased, wringing his hands together like a damsel. “My hero.”

“Forgive me,” Otabek said, because he knew nothing else to say. The merman looked deflated at such an earnest apology, and the next moment he was gone, twisted into the surf and disappeared.  

Otabek stared after the streak of green, wondering if anyone would believe his story and whether he’d admit to such a brutal verbal beating for his vanity. It took him the better part of an hour to walk back along the shore, still stunned and speechless. He was nearly to the village path when he heard the cry:

“Hey! Hero!”

As Otabek turned back towards the water a rock hit his shoulder. No—not a rock. Otabek bent, picking up the golden medallion. When he looked up the merman was there, floating amongst the waves, decorated in that same sharp smirk.

“Consider it a thank you,” the merman said.

“A thank you?” Otabek repeated. The merman rolled his eyes, coming up to the edge of the surf.

“For saving me,” the merman mused, chin cupped in his hands.

“I didn’t—“

“—From a boring day.”

Otabek recovered enough to scoff. His reaction finally earned a laugh from the merman—not the pearly tinkling from his grandfather’s legends, but a bark like a sea lion.

“See you again sometime, Hero,” the merman said, and he splashed back into the sea.


End file.
